Dragon Lily
by mahimboy
Summary: Harry Potter finds himself right in the middle of a raging war - caught between two very ambitious women and two warring sides. The very secrets of magic are coming undone at the seams... and Harry finds himself caught right in the middle of it all. Originally published by WerewolfWarrior on hpfanficarchive. All rights reserved to the author.
1. Prologue

Prologue

 _I sit down on the comfortable sofa perched on what, for all intents and purposes, appears to be a rainbow suspended in space amidst a black expanse littered with shimmering stars. On a bare, wooden chair - ridiculously Spartan compared to my own luxurious couch - sits the black-haired man I'm here to speak with._

 _I raise my palm up and a floating ball glides into the air, hovering above us – a flurry of runes and numbers scampering across the surface of the translucent sphere._

 _And the man speaks._

" _Sometimes," he rasps, "The tiniest perturbations can move mountains. Split-second changes can move worlds. The hand of fate is sometimes little more than a mere nudge."_

 _Halloween, 1981 at Godric's Hollow_

Lily froze in place. She started breathing in spurts, loud and heavy, shivering uncontrollably in fear. She wove a web of magic around her, making frantic gestures with her wand and pushing runes into place on the wooden floor.

James, who had been shouting at her to take Harry and go, was no longer screaming. There was now no noise at all – no sounds of struggle, no hum of wards. The very air around her seemed to cringe and hang suspended in fear. There was a fell silence in the house. And then… sinister footsteps began to ascend the stairway. She felt her hair stand on end.

 _This is it, Lily. This was what the ritual had been for. Sacrifice. Death. The binding of souls._

And then the footsteps stopped just outside her door. Lily spun around and faced the door.

"No, no, no, no," she chanted feverishly, holding up her wand and trembling in fear.

But then she looked at her little baby peering up at her from the cradle – his wide green eyes gazing up at her own, brimming with tears. She had to do this. _For Harry_.

And then the silence burst to give way to a loud _boom_ as the door burst into pieces.

"NO!" Lily screamed, and cast a shield around Harry. Pieces of wood tore into her skin and flew by, but splashed harmlessly against her shield. _Harry was safe_.

Lily frantically wiped blood from her face and looked at the terrible apparition that had appeared in their home. In _her_ home.

"No, please," she pleaded frantically, "No, not Harry, take me… please… not Harry…"

"Step aside, foolish girl," the apparition said in a voice that sent a chill down her spine.

"Please," she muttered, dropping to her knees, not letting go of her wand. A _thread_ of magic seemed to sizzle in place, connecting her to her son. She tensed in anticipation.

And then, another voice joined in the commotion, bursting into the bedroom and pulling at her arms. Frantically, Lily looked around with tear-stained eyes, hoping, _pleading_ for a rescuer, but it wasn't a rescuer.

Amid the ruins of the bedroom stood a man she _reviled_ with all her heart. Beetle black eyes glimmered beneath greasy hair as she looked into the face of a very fearful Severus Snape. He was gasping for breath.

"My lord!" a frantic voice screamed, "Lily! Please! Listen to the Dark Lord!"

"NO!" she screamed, trying to tear her hand out of his grasp.

"Lily! James is _dead_!" Severus yelled at her, "I am your _only_ salvation!"

Lily pursed her lips and a curse burst out of her wand, slamming into place between her and Severus, _tearing_ her arm out of his grasp.

"You… you _dare_ ," she spat at him, "You _dare_ …"

"Enough," Voldemort whispered, and the room grew chilly, all at once, as if all that was once good and holy was draining away. Lily's breath came out in cold wisps and she trembled, cowering before Voldemort.

"Please…" she said, just as Severus whispered, "Lily…"

"Severus," the Dark Lord whispered menacingly, "You have disobeyed me. I thought I had told you to stay behind."

"My Lord… I…" Severus said frantically.

"My orders are binding, Severus," Voldemort said coldly, and casually waved his wand. "I do not forgive disobedience. Nonetheless, I would be willing to forgive you, Severus… if it was not for one small caveat. If you followed me here, Severus, you must have been outside this pathetic little cottage right before I decided to drop in."

"My Lord… I…" Severus repeated, backing away.

"You know where I'm going with this, I suppose," Voldemort said casually, not taking his eyes off a crouching Lily, "I suppose you saw the little… ritual… I performed outside this house, did you not?"

Severus seemed to hesitate for a split second. Then, all at once, words tumbled out of his mouth. "My Lord… I… I only saw you do something with your blood… some sort of blood ritual. I… did not recognize the ritual. I do not…"

"But you _did_ see me do something you should _not_ have," Voldemort said, "Something that _is_ no doubt beyond you at this very moment. But, the problem, you see, is that you're a very _clever_ wizard, Severus. Had Crabbe, or perhaps, Nott, seen me do this, I would not have blinked an eyelid – for they do not have the prowess that _you_ do. But you _do_ have prowess and the resources to find out _exactly_ what sort of ritual I performed this night Severus, and I cannot risk that information getting out."

"My Lord, I submit myself to a Memory Charm," Severus said frantically, "Just… please… spare me… I have been your faithful servant…"

" _Avada Kedavra_ ," Voldemort said abruptly, pointing his wand straight at Severus.

There was no time to recoil, no time to mourn. Lily instinctively threw her wand out, binding the ritual she had been working on to _Severus_ instead of her – she did not know _why_ she did so… it was instinct, perhaps, or some small nudge by the hands of fate.

Then, the Dark Lord brought his wand to bear on her.

" _Avada Kedavra," he said._

And she knew no more.

 _A few hours later at Privet Drive, Surrey_

"She would not want this, Albus," Minerva McGonagall, Transfiguration Professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry said to the Headmaster of the same school, "Lily would not have… I don't think… I don't think she's ever even _mentioned_ her sister."

They were walking away from Number Four, Privet Drive, where they had just entrusted little Harry Potter to the care of one Petunia Dursley - Lily's sister - enveloped by the best protection charms and wards they could place on the infant.

Albus Dumbledore sighed. "Lily never spoke of her sister with malice, Minerva," he said, "Harry is her _nephew_. I'm not _quite_ convinced Lily and her sister were on less than cordial terms."

"I don't know, Albus," Minerva said, unsure, "What did the will say? The Potters must have had a will, right?"

"The will entrusted him to the care of Sirius Black," Albus said, frowning.

"Of course!" Minerva said, "Give him to Sirius!"

"Minerva," Albus said, cutting her off sharply, "The Potters were living under a Fidelius Charm. Who do _you_ think was their Secret Keeper?"

Minerva furrowed her eyebrows as she connected the pieces together. And then she gasped. "Sirius?" she asked, stupefied, "No… never… I…"

"Indeed," Albus sighed, "I'm trying to get a hold of the young man as we speak, Minerva. Alastor and Cornelius are on his trail – we can only hope that Voldemort merely found a way to circumvent the protection. Or perhaps, he wrung it out of Sirius through some fearsome magic. We can only hope, Minerva, that Sirius is innocent."

Minerva stared, wide-eyed, at Albus. "I… just cannot believe it. Sirius _must_ be innocent, Albus," she said.

Albus nodded at her morosely.

"So James is…?" she asked.

"The aurors swept the area, Minerva," Albus said, "James has… passed on."

" _Merlin_."

"And so has Severus."

" _That_ still confounds me, Albus. What was Severus _doing_ there? Wasn't he supposed to be working for _us_?" Minerva asked, "Did he not defect to you?"

Albus looked up at the stars. "I do not control him, Minerva," he said, "But I did not entirely trust Severus either. I kept him under close watch, and yet he eluded me this night. More than ever, it truly reminds me how vulnerable I truly am, and how far from omniscient I really am… but it _does_ appear that he managed to pull a fair amount of wool over my eyes. Or perhaps not – perhaps he was trying to _prevent_ Lord Voldemort from massacring the Potters and got caught in the crossfire. We may never know, old friend."

"And Severus is dead too?" Minerva asked.

"Indeed," Albus said, "And the aurors found that it was by Voldemort's wand. Which obviously does not make this mysterious sequence of events any easier to fathom."

"But if he died at the Dark Lord's hand," Minerva asked, "Surely that must mean he was trying to _help_ the Potters?"

"Does it?" Dumbledore asked, still staring up at the sky, while running his fingers through his beard, "Or does it mean that Severus was working for Voldemort, but lost his will at the last minute when Lily was about to die? And if he _was_ on the Potters' side, why did he not alert the Order, Minerva? Why did he not tell _me_?"

"I… see," Minerva said, after a short pause.

They walked together to the very end of the short street and turned to each other.

"But… Lily," Minerva asked tentatively, "Is she…?"

Albus furrowed his brow as he pondered the question. "I do not know, Minerva," he said, "She appears to be in a certain… limbo, as it were. Neither alive, nor dead. She seems to be teetering on the very brink of what we would call a coma… but it's so much more than just a mere coma. She _literally_ seems to alternate between the two, blinking in and out of tangibility."

"Tangibility?" Minerva breathed.

"At times," Albus said, "The healers claimed they could pass their hands right through her body. She seems to be _winking_ in and out of existence, Minerva."

"Merlin!"

"Indeed."

"It's a precarious situation," Minerva said, "Sirius a betrayer… perhaps. Severus a traitor… perhaps. Lily is alive… perhaps."

"Which is why it's important for Harry to be _safe_ with people that care for him," Albus said fervently.

"And yet," Minerva said, "I cannot help but feel that when Lily wakes up… _if_ she wakes up… she's going to be really, _really_ mad."

 _29 May, 1993 at St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Janus Thickey Ward_

Miriam Strout, Healer in charge of the ward for long-term residents of St Mungo's had just finished shepherding poor Frank Longbottom back to his bed when her trainee – Jane Delaney – came rushing to her side and started tugging at her sleeve.

Miriam sighed as she finally managed to wrench the curtain shut around a whimpering Alice Longbottom, who was _begging_ her for more bubblegum wrappers, and turned around to face a very red-faced Jane. "What?" she asked in a harried tone, "What is it?"

Jane just caught her wrist in an iron grip and physically _pulled_ her to face the bed of a long-term comatose patient within the ward.

The curtains, which were usually wrenched close unless someone wanted to go in or out, were now wide open. And a very wide-awake Lily Potter was staring groggily at both Miriam and Jane.

"Merlin," Miriam whispered, "It actually _worked_. Dumbledore's cure actually _worked_. She's _awake_!"


	2. Call of the Siren

**Call of the Siren**

The sun had barely risen, but the two boys were already trundling across the hill, away from a field littered with colorful tents.

"I _really_ appreciate the fact that your dad got us tickets to the entire Quidditch World Cup, Ron," Harry muttered to Ron, "But I'm not entirely sure I appreciate _this_ part."

"It's character-building stuff," Ron muttered just as morosely, "Or so they say. And to be fair, it's hardly my dad's fault. You want to blame someone, look no further than your very own godfather."

"Oi!" Harry said, as he playfully swatted Ron.

"Honestly!" Ron protested, "All the man has to do is perform an _Aguamenti_. How hard is that? But _no_ , Sirius just _has_ to order to us to walk across a bloody hill to fetch a pail of water."

"Always liked that rhyme," Harry said, going over the _Jack and Jill_ tune in his head, "Honestly though, I think Sirius just wants to… er…"

Ron clenched his fist and moved it up and down crudely. "Yeah," he said, "A good thing his silencing charms are as good as he says they are."

Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley were camped in Ireland for the first part of their Quidditch tour – Arthur Weasley had got them a pass to travel with the British World Cup Officials. And so, here they were, traveling along with the Irish Quidditch Team. The entire World Cup was being hosted by the United Kingdom, Ireland and France, and as such, the initial part of the contest – the league matches – were taking place in isolated moors in Ireland and Scotland. On Ron's insistence, they chose to stay in Ireland – the English Quidditch Team had been placed in a Group A, which would play out its matches in Ireland.

It had been quite a task, convincing their guardians to let them go for the Quidditch tour – initially, the Weasleys had just planned to go for the final, but after much pleading, they had relented. Nonetheless, Sirius Black had been coerced (though, in Harry's opinion, it didn't take much coercion at all) to accompany them.

Only, Sirius Black was a dog, both literally and metaphorically. With much to make up for his years of incarceration at Azkaban, Sirius brought a witch every night to their tent – only, he tried to _hide_ it from Ron and Harry. And hiding it, so to speak, involved Sirius persuading Harry and Ron to go across the hill to the nearest well to "fetch water" while he snuck the woman home.

For their part, Harry and Ron pretended Sirius' ruse was working. They tried bringing up the fact that they _knew_ Sirius was using their tent to get to third base (or more) with the women he brought home, but Sirius always managed to shush them up and went mysteriously deaf. "I am a responsible adult and a role model to you young 'uns," Sirius would say, puffing out his chest as Harry and Ron went into an uncontrollable coughing fit, "It does not behoove someone of my stature to bring women home like a Knockturn Alley regular."

It was _really_ funny, and Harry _did_ enjoy his walks through the camp – full of Quidditch fans from different parts of the world. And truth be told, he would rather _not_ be privy to his godfather's life of debauchery, as entertaining as it was. Besides, Sirius deserved to have some fun – he had suffered too much, from what his mother had told him.

"It's… nice that Sirius got out, y'know," Ron said quietly, echoing Harry's thoughts, "He deserves to screw around a bit."

"Yeah," Harry said, "He does."

"I'm still amazed all that happened," Ron said, looking away into the distance at the rising sun peeking over the top of the hill, casting a hazy orange glow over them, "Your mom waking up, the way she cleared up Sirius' name… she's a bloody hero."

Harry smiled proudly. "That she is," he said, "And somehow, she managed to complete her Potions Professorship over it all."

"Yeah," Ron said, "Barely been a year, hasn't it?"

"She awoke at the end of our second year," Harry muttered, "Apparently, she awoke when… we were down in that bloody chamber."

Ron shuddered. "Blimey," he said in a hushed voice, "I didn't know that she awoke precisely during that time. That's… amazing. And a terrible coincidence."

"It _is_ amazing though," Harry echoed, "A year ago, I was just some weird kid living in Surrey. In the space of a month, my mom had returned, she had adopted me, and freed my dad's best friend from his prison."

"And don't forget imprisoning the _true_ traitor," Ron said darkly.

"Yeah," Harry said, running a hand through his hair, "I was trying to avoid that topic."

Ron looked a bit queasy. "To think Scabbers was an animagus… I… ugh… he slept in a _cage_ in my _bedroom_ , Harry!"

"He was in our _dorm_ , Ron," Harry said.

"Ugh," Ron finished.

"Indeed," Harry rejoined.

They walked in silence for a while.

Then Ron faced him again as they reached the peak of the hill.

"So," the redhead asked, "Slughorn is retiring this year?"

"Yup," Harry said, "Mum's the Potions Professor starting this year. Seeing as how she completed her professorship and all."

 _Mum_. Harry marveled at the word – he had never, in his wildest dreams, imagined that he would _ever_ use that word. A single syllable that turned back a _world_ of loss. A woman he had given up all hope of seeing alive and whole. Harry hadn't even _known_ his own mother was alive for the first eleven years of his life – until he was told, by Hagrid (who introduced him to the wizarding world), that his mother was in a state of limbo at a wizarding hospital.

And then, he had suffered through _that_ knowledge – his mother was actually flitting in and out of death… had been all along for more than a decade. That is, until Dumbledore managed to procure the Philosopher's Stone and keep it at Hogwarts to find a way to cure Lily Potter. Once again, Harry had begun to _hope_. But then, the Stone had to be destroyed – Harry himself had protected the stone from a shade of the Dark Lord that had possessed his Defense Professor.

Nonetheless, Dumbledore had persisted. During the second year, despite the threat of a basilisk (that Harry had slain) and despite being thrown out of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore had still managed to concoct a cure for Lily Potter from the remnants of the Stone.

And, like an avenging angel straight out of his childhood dreams of being reunited with his long-lost relatives – relatives who _loved_ him and _cared_ for him – his mother had come and freed him from the tyranny of the Dursleys. There had been no climactic confrontation though – his mother just turned up at Platform Nine and Three Quarters and picked him up from the train. She had kissed his cheek, embraced him with teary eyes and told him he would never have to go back to the Dursleys' again.

And yet, for some strange reason, he had to over-extend himself each time he called her "Mum." He wondered why that was.

Professor McGonagall nodded imperiously at Lily Potter, albeit with a fond smile on her face.

"Well, Lily," she said, "Looks like you've got the hang of things at Hogwarts. You're good to go, Professor Potter."

Lily smiled and nodded right back.

"However," Minerva said, before Lily could get ready to leave the Deputy Headmistress' office, "I was hoping to catch up with you, Lily. Acquaintance to acquaintance, as it were. I haven't _quite_ had the opportunity, with you scrambling around to get your cherished Professorship and everything."

Lily laughed. "I've heard that a _lot_ this past year," she said, "Also, ' _acquaintance to acquaintance'_? And here I thought we were friends, Minerva."

Minerva smiled. "Of course," she said, "But I've seen far too less of you these past two years."

"I've had a lot of catching up to do," Lily rejoined.

Minerva raised an eyebrow. "I admire your tenacity, Lily," she said, "There are very few individuals that could shrug off a magical coma like it was nothing and still possess enough drive to continue their decade-old ambitions like nothing happened in between."

"Thank you," Lily began, but Minerva cut her off.

"Now that you've admitted I'm your friend, Lily," Minerva said, her tone hesitant, if a bit firm, "I believe I can say this with relative impunity – my intention was not to _praise_ you. I do respect your drive and ambition, and your treatment of your reprieve from… _existence_ … as if it were nothing. However, there is a downside to that attitude that I believe you're not _quite_ seeing."

Minerva paused, as if she expected Lily to respond angrily.

"I'm not sure I understand what you're saying, Minerva," Lily said, entirely confused.

Minerva lifted up the teapot that was sitting on the table between them and refilled her cup. She sipped, and then said mildly, "Those thirteen years of absence meant something to a lot of people, Lily. Especially to Harry."

Lily flushed. "I…," she stammered.

"I don't mean to rail against you," Minerva said hastily, "I merely meant to ask you if you _did_ … make time for him in between your admirable pursuit of your own goals."

"Did Harry say something to you?" Lily asked.

Minerva placed her teacup back on the saucer and leaned back in her chair, looking at an uncertain Lily Potter.

"Lily, look, I'm no mother," Minerva said with a sigh, "So I suppose it is a bit presumptuous of me to bring this up. However, I _am_ a warden, of sorts.

"And to answer your question: no. Harry didn't say a word. He never _does_ , Lily – that's my point. He's… not had an easy childhood, from what little I know of him."

"What?" Lily breathed, "What do you mean?"

"Have you visited Petunia since you got Harry back?" Minerva asked sharply.

"I called her," Lily said, "You know… over the telephone. She seemed as distant as ever, if a bit shocked at my revival. But I didn't quite get around to… I didn't… I had so much to do…"

Minerva shifted uneasily in her seat. "Right," she said, "Again, I don't _know_ – but that's what concerns me. That neither you, nor I, know exactly what went on in the Dursley household. I'm not alleging that Harry went through horrific abuse at the place, or something along those lines. However, before you decided to take Harry in and greet him at the railway station, Albus had Rubeus go over to Privet Drive to pick up Harry's belongings."

Lily nodded.

"Well?" Minerva asked, "Did you take a look at his belongings?"

Lily flushed guiltily and shook her head.

"Neither did I," Minerva admitted, "But Rubeus told me about it. Lily, there _were_ no belongings. Lily, what does Harry _own_? Apart from his stationary, and the items he uses at school, what does he actually _have_ to call his own?"

"He…" Lily murmured as she racked her brains, "He…"

"What does he wear, Lily?" Minerva asked.

"He asked me for money to go shopping once," Lily said in a faint voice, "He went to a nearby store to buy stuff – I just thought he was growing out of his old clothes…"

"From what I saw of the casuals he wore, Lily," Minerva said, "All of what he owned before coming here were hand-me-downs."

Lily's eyes widened at the implication.

"Again," Minerva said, "I'm not alleging abuse, so much as _neglect_ , Lily. I don't think the Dursleys treated Harry as a nephew, so much as a burden that must be borne for the sake of an obligation towards a relative who was presumed dead."

"And," Lily asked, her voice quivering, "You did _nothing_? You knew all of this and you did _nothing_?"

Minerva rubbed at her forehead wearily. "The problem here is that Harry himself never said anything to any of us, Lily," she said with a sigh, "But the signs were there…"

"You did _nothing_?" Lily said, her voice rising in anger.

Minerva cut her off sharply. "While I freely admit to a certain sense of… complacency regarding your son's plight, Lily, I refuse to take all the blame for whatever happened to Harry. Child services – your muggle ones, anyway – paid regular visits to their home until Harry reached the age of four or so. They sent reports to us, which we kept track of. We didn't just _give_ him to Petunia, Lily. We lacked the resources to keep direct watch on him, but the reports claimed he was being treated well.

"And there were still people who wanted Harry _dead_. Or do you forget Lestrange and his wife and what they did to the Longbottoms? We didn't want to give away Harry's location through regular apparitions to his place. And… I suppose we took Petunia's maternal instincts for granted."

Lily opened her mouth to reply, her normally beautiful face contorting into a vengeful expression, but Minerva held out a hand to stop her.

"I'm not trying to _absolve_ myself of blame, Lily!" Minerva said in a conciliatory tone, "I'm telling you _how_ we arrived at this point. It was a combination of struggling to rebuild our world, of depending too _much_ on muggle child protection services and of being _occupied_ and _trying to catch up_."

Lily reeled as if struck by Minerva's last words.

"I see," Lily said quietly, her face still flushed. "I… I suppose I was so busy trying to prove that I was alright and trying to forget how I was asleep for so long, that I… forgot about Harry."

"And that can be said of me too," Minerva said, "And of Albus and Rubeus and Remus… and perhaps Sirius, though I do not fault him for his horrible imprisonment. We all just… forgot about Harry."

Lily looked down at her palms. "I… I…", she stammered.

"Lily," Minerva said gently, "My intention was not to spur you into _guilt_. Don't get me wrong – Harry… the way he looks at you, the way he sees you… he's an orphan who got his _mother_ back – it's the greatest gift a neglected child could ever have. I don't think he _cares_ that you forgot about him, simply because you're _there_. But he doesn't _know_ what a normal childhood means, Lily. He only knows that he's got his mother back, and that's the most he ever wanted.

"But you and I know better – we know what it's like to have loving parents. We know what it's like to lead a normal childhood.

"When a normal teenager pleads for a new broom, or new clothes, or a new chess set and their parent says no, the normal teenager _sulks_ and complains. When _Harry_ asks for something new and you _ignore_ him, he will smile because he's _used_ to the neglect and just be grateful that you're _there_. And that's not a _good_ thing, Lily. That's not _healthy_."

Lily squirmed guiltily in her chair as she tried to read through her notes for the upcoming year, despite the fact that her eyes glazed over as soon as she read the first line.

Minerva was right.

And at the same time, Minerva was _wrong_. She did not understand. No one did.

Lily sighed, let go of her class notes – that promptly rustled onto the desk – and cradled her head in her hands, rubbing at her forehead. The problem, she surmised, was that no one – not even Dumbledore – actually grasped what had happened.

Lily had not sacrificed herself to save Harry – if that had been the case, she would not have been _alive_ today. When Voldemort had attacked them, Lily had linked Severus Snape into the sacrificial spell, hoping against hope that _his_ soul would suffice instead of hers.

Involuntarily, Lily's fist curled and uncurled in rage at the thought of Severus' betrayal. Albus had been reluctant to tell her about it, but she had put two and two together. It had been _Severus_ that had overheard Trelawney's stupid prophecy, _Severus_ who had relayed the prophecy to Voldemort, _Severus_ who had thought she would willingly step aside and let Voldemort murder her son so she could be with the despicable man.

 _Yes_ , Lily thought, _he deserved the death he got_.

At the end of the day, her original plan had been to sacrifice her own soul to grant protection to Harry's – it was ancient magic, one she had taken great pains to learn about and cast. But Severus' appearance threw a monkey wrench into those plans. Lily, at the last moment, had chosen _his_ soul for protection. Only, in her frenzy in those last moments, she had forgotten about the requirements of the spell – it needed true _love_ to work. And Severus never _did_ possess that.

So the spell had sacrificed his soul and _her_ maternal instinct to sustain itself, nearly tearing her body apart in the process, and putting her in some sort of magical coma. Her body flitted between reality and… something else… but her soul stayed anchored, for some reason that even Dumbledore could not fathom.

And when Dumbledore had used the essence of the Philosopher's Stone to revive her, he had _not_ summoned her old form – he had practically forged a new body for her. Reconstituted her in her old likeness around her soul.

It took only a bit of pondering and Arithmantic divining for Lily to find out exactly what had happened that night, though she had told no one the whole story. Essentially, the spell had _consumed_ Severus to protect _her_ and push the Killing Curse back onto the Dark Lord. And then the spell found its power waning, so it had consumed her maternal _love_ for Harry as well to cast its protection around him, taxing her body so much that it _almost_ winked out of existence. And _her_ soul had anchored itself to Harry. And that anchoring had created an… attraction.

Thus, when she was reformed, so to speak, she found that she still loved Harry. Only… the love was… different. More weird. More… unhealthy.

It wasn't so much that Lily was no longer capable of maternal love, as it was the fact that Lily was _drawn_ to Harry. It was overpowering, stifling – it went beyond a material attraction… echoes of the anchored chains that her soul had once forged with his. And to make matters worse, her memories wreaked havoc upon her. When she had died, she had been a very gifted twenty-year-old witch with a one-year-old baby.

And when she had been revived, she was _still_ a gifted twenty-year-old witch, only, without the one-year-old baby. And while people _told_ her Harry was her son – she couldn't quite _feel_ it. For all intents and purposes, she was a young woman living with a _very_ attractive male teenager who bore a startling resemblance to her ex-husband.

Thus, she had tried to escape her attraction, her plight. And had thrown herself into her work and her passion – Potions. She had earned a Professorship, and then inserted herself among Hogwarts staff, taking over from her mentor-of-sorts - Slughorn. She had freed an innocent man from prison. She had given Harry a place he could call home.

But her attraction persisted. And that was a _big_ problem.

The blonde woman watched the young man discreetly as he walked past her with a redheaded boy (obviously, a Weasley) she was told was his best friend.

 _There's something about Harry Potter_ , she thought as she watched the Boy-Who-Lived, _An under-current of something… powerful… and mysterious_.

The Boy-Who-Lived, however, glanced away from her, towards a sky-blue tent with an open flap. A very pretty girl with East Asian features emerged from the tent and Harry seemed to freeze, as if torn between greeting the girl and running away from her.

She frowned at the sight.

The Weasley boy walked a few more paces with the bucket of water and then paused as he noticed his friend wasn't keeping up. He turned around, puzzled, and then grinned as he saw Harry looking uncertainly at the pretty girl.

"Oi!" he said, and Harry started, "You coming, mate? Mom said she'd send over pie today by portkey, and I _really_ need to eat."

Her frown deepened as the words jogged her memories.

" _Having a finger in every pie," Lucius told her coldly, "That's what the Malfoys are all about."_

 _She nodded tiredly. She was sick of these "This is what the Malfoys are" catch-phrases and associated idioms. Obviously, Lucius was trying to tell her something, and she wished he would get to the bloody point._

 _Of course, she would never say so to his face. Because "that's not what purebloods do in the Malfoy family."_

" _I've heard… rumors," Lucius said in a low voice, "Of things. Dark things. Disappearances. Murders. Take the last two years at Hogwarts – granted, one of those things was my doing, but the other…"_

 _She wanted to shrink away from him at his reference to releasing a basilisk on school filled with children, but she desisted and persevered, listening to the monster she once called a husband. Each time she thought this life became more bearable, each time she thought the Malfoy name wasn't a noose around her neck, a layer of filth peeled back and she discovered how deep she was embedded in a nest of the most repulsive vipers in England. He was loathsome, and she could barely stand his presence any more._

 _But she had to. For Draco's sake. For her son._

" _The other," Lucius continued, "Something to do with Nicholas Flamel and his precious Philosopher's Stone. The entire story – of possession, of a renegade Defense Professor, of the involvement of the Boy-Who-Lived – it belies something vast and powerful. Do you get my gist?"_

 _She thought for a moment and her mind reeled at what Lucius was really trying to imply._

" _You're… saying… He… is coming back?" she asked._

 _Lucius nodded sharply._

" _I believe so," he said. "And while I know we belong on his side…"_

 _She snorted at that, and quite loudly, but Lucius persisted, his voice colder._

"… _We need to make sure He does not take… issue… with us when… or rather, if… he returns. While my faith in his cause has remained steadfast, my actions of late may give him cause to suspect that I have been… less that loyal to Him, personally."_

" _We're talking about a hypothetical situation," she said wearily, "It's not like the Dark Lord is going to make an appearance tomorrow and demand punishment."_

 _Lucius hissed at her open mention of the Dark Lord._

" _I'd rather you not say it aloud like that in our house, you stupid old hag," he snarled through gritted teeth._

 _She pursed her lips at the insult. "Then why are you here, speaking to me about it?" she asked stiffly, "Why aren't you at some whorehouse with your boy-toys?"_

 _Lucius made a sudden movement with his hands, but seemed to resist at the last moment and she smirked. She took great pleasure in pushing him to the edge._

" _I'm talking to you about this," he said through gritted teeth, "Because if the Dark Lord comes back at all, anything that affects me… is going to affect you… and… our son."_

 _She took a deep breath. She should have known Lucius was going to blackmail her with her son's safety, again._

" _And what would you have me do about all this?" she asked._

" _I want us to have… leverage," he said, "In the event that he returns, I want us to have something to appease him. A tribute, of sorts."_

 _She raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at him._

" _I..." Lucius said, and took a deep breath before he continued, making it clear that asking her for something was the worst form of pain imaginable for him (and it probably was, she thought wryly), "I want you to befriend Harry Potter."_

 _She was stunned for a moment, then she laughed. Lucius' mouth tightened angrily._

" _And how do you propose I do that?" she asked._

" _I've arranged for Arthur Weasley to get passes to the month-long Quidditch World Cup programme," Lucius said quickly, "And if I know the man, he's going to give it to his youngest son, who's quite a bit of a Quidditch fan. Who just happens to be Harry Potter's best friend. Which means Harry Potter and the youngest Weasley boy are going to be tagging along with either the Irish team or one of the British teams for the better part of a month."_

" _And you want me to be there," she finished. Despite her utter loathing for the man, she had to respect his manipulative schemes._

" _Yes," Lucius said, "I want you to get to know him."_

 _She shook her head. "And why do you think he shall even be interested in speaking to me?"_

 _Lucius smiled coldly at her. "That… is entirely up to you. I don't care how you do it, as long as you do it. Use your womanly charm, or whatever is left of it."_

 _She brushed off the usual insult – she knew she looked as good as ever. Lucius was just trying to get under her skin._

" _But remember," he said, "We might be dealing in hypothetical scenarios… but if He does return, it's not just my life on the line – but Draco's as well."_

 _Her fist curled and uncurled at his continued reference to her son's life on the line. She nodded sharply._

" _The Quidditch World Cup is merely an opportunity to get to know him," Lucius said, "We're playing the long game here."_

" _Oh?" she asked._

" _But let's not worry about that right now," Lucius said, "For now, you need to prepare for the Quidditch World Cup."_

 _He stood up and walked away from her. She merely pursed her lips as she watched his retreating back, cursing her dead mother thricefold for letting Aunt Walburga marry her off to this loathsome creature, who thought her little more than a house ornament he could show off to the world for his advantage._

Amidst the field of tents, the beautiful blonde witch continued to watch the young wizard, waiting for an opportunity to approach.

Despite herself, the woman smiled. The boy was _very_ handsome – even _more_ handsome than James Potter.

" _This is going to be more fun than I thought_ ," she whispered to herself with a smile.

"Erm… you go on ahead, Ron," Harry said hesitantly, "I… uh… I'll catch up."

Ron smirked at him and Harry flushed. "Suuuuuure," Ron said leadingly, "Good luck!" And Ron tittered as he walked down the hill to their tent.

Harry watched the very pretty Cho Chang emerge from her tent, like she had done every morning since they'd started their treks up and down the hill. Harry knew he had a _huge_ crush on the girl, and he had watched her with a fair bit of longing each time he saw her as he walked down the hill in the morning, but he had yet to muster the courage to talk to her.

 _Today's the day_ , Harry thought, _I'm going to speak to her_.

He took a deep breath.

 _Yes, today's the day_.

He took another deep breath.

 _Yes. I'm going. To speak. To her._

Another deep breath. His feet refused to move.

 _Speak to her_.

And another deep breath.

 _I'm never going to speak to her, am I_?

A tinkling laugh broke through his failed self-motivating thoughts. It was a _very_ pleasant laugh, though, almost _beautiful_ , and it made his hair stand on end as he turned to its source.

And Harry knew it sounded cheesy, even in his head, but as he turned, he was greeted with what he thought was a vision of beauty.

A very stunning blonde woman stood in front of him, clad in a very shape-fitting set of robes, tailored to hug every curve on her body. Her features looked almost regal, with blue eyes – almost glinting with a predatory, seductive light between long, dark eyelashes and perfectly sculpted eyebrows – a shapely nose and beautiful pouty lips. Her long, flowing blonde hair was curled into ringlets, and it framed her face perfectly.

Of course, Harry didn't notice all of this right away – he was a bit too busy wondering exactly why she would ever bother speaking to him.

"You _really_ should go talk to her," the woman said, nodding in Cho's direction, "If you keep gaping at her, she's probably going to think it's _really_ creepy, and then you'll have lost your chance altogether."

Harry blushed. "I… uh…" he stammered, lost for words.

"Although," the woman said, glancing curiously at him, "She _could_ be a fangirl, now that I think about it. She _might_ be flattered by the fact that _you_ are staring at her. Though she doesn't really seem the type."

Harry laughed uneasily. _Dammit_ , he thought, _say something suave, Harry._ Unfortunately, his brain seemed to have shut down and simply did not want to comply.

"Well?" the woman asked.

"I… uh… I'll speak to her… uh… tomorrow," Harry said, and kicked himself mentally.

The woman laughed again, sending pleasant tingles up Harry's spine, and he smiled automatically.

"Well, well, well, this is adorable – the Boy-Who-Lived is scared of talking to a pretty girl, is he?" she asked.

Harry just blushed again.

"Well," the woman said, "If you aren't going to talk to _her_ , then perhaps _we_ can talk awhile… if you don't mind, that is."

Despite the fact that his brain was saying _yes yes yes yesyesyesyes_ , Harry was still a bit wary.

"I… uh…" he stuttered.

"Oh," the woman said, "My apologies, Mr. Potter. I suppose an introduction is in order?"

"Harry, _please_ ," Harry said, and his brain congratulated him for stringing two words together without a stammer in between. _Shut up brain_ , Harry thought.

"Of course, Harry," the woman said with a pleasant smile (a _pretty_ smile, Harry's brain corrected). "In that case, I suppose you may call me… Narcissa."

That name jogged something in his memory – Harry knew he had heard the name before, but he couldn't remember where. There was… something… about the woman that seemed familiar, but he couldn't quite place it. Nonetheless, as long as his brain wasn't sounding off any alarms… Harry shook himself. _Goddammit_ , he thought, _stop overthinking this. Talk to the awfully pretty lady_.

"Yes, ma'am," he said, "Uh… I mean, Narcissa."

The woman laughed pleasantly again.

"Walk with me, Harry," she said.

And so, he accompanied her as they strolled through the field of tents, starting up a pleasant, if slightly one-sided, conversation.


	3. Over the Edge

Over the Edge

"So," she breathed, her whisper a soft, soothing rush of sound that seemed to worm its way into his very bones, suffusing them with vigor, "Care to duel, Harry?"

Harry knew that Ron and Sirius were probably a bit worried about where he was – granted, Ron _might_ tell Sirius that Harry had stopped by to talk to Cho Chang, but that was the farthest thing from his mind at the moment. Most of his mind was pre-occupied with keeping up a conversation with the rather remarkable woman he was presently sitting beside.

At first, they had talked about mundane topics – why he had taken up Ancient Runes, for one. Harry told Narcissa that his choice of Ancient Runes had been based on his mother's recommendation, only to notice a frown of disapproval pass over Narcissa's face. But the frown cleared up as soon as it appeared; Narcissa herself was apparently more biased towards Arithmancy, though she _had_ admitted that Runes was more suited to individuals who would rather _use_ magic than study _why_ magic happened. That had piqued Harry's interest, and they had spent a while discussing the basics of Arithmancy.

And then they had delved into politics – basically, the politics of the wizarding world, which Harry knew little of. Harry could not help but feel that he had been _steered_ into that topic – Narcissa was definitely setting the pace of the conversation, though he was no slouch at this sort of back and forth. He was a tad alarmed at how… conservative Narcissa seemed to lean, but she had admitted that her conservative leanings were probably because she was a pureblood. Harry had assured her that it did not matter – his best friend _and_ godfather were purebloods after all.

And then the talk had turned, for some strange reason, to his magical prowess. A part of his mind – the paranoid part – was slightly alarmed at how the entire conversation seemed to be engineered towards probing him, verbally _gauging_ him, as if Narcissa was measuring his worth. But after a while, Harry's paranoia fell away – he was having _way_ too much fun. It also helped that Narcissa was _really_ hot.

And he had to suppress an aroused shudder each time she brushed her hand lightly across his thigh, which was distractingly often. Or when she leaned over to pass him a cup of tea, the rough hide of his knuckles brushing against her softer skin. And he could not help but notice how attractive and graceful she was with every movement – even an action as simple as brushing her fiery golden locks out of the way and tucking them behind her ear, fingers weaving a smooth path through her hair, was… beautiful.

By now, he could tell that Narcissa was _sharp_ – Harry had first compared her intelligence to Hermione's, but he quickly dismissed that notion. Narcissa was not intelligent in the same bookish, naïve manner that Hermione was – Narcissa's intelligence seemed to be more… _cunning_ , perhaps, though her breadth of knowledge on magic and politics was nothing short of amazing. Then again, Narcissa was older than Hermione – though, in Harry's estimates, not by much.

Eventually the topic had settled on Harry's favorite subject – Defence against the Dark Arts – which had then led to the question Narcissa had just asked him.

"Uh… duel?" Harry asked tentatively.

Narcissa stood up eagerly and bounced on her feet. Harry thought she looked strangely cute at that moment. "Yes," she said sultrily, a strange light in her eyes that sent shivers down Harry's spine, "Follow me."

Harry warily got up and followed her across the tent, through a flap and into an adjacent chamber. He was once again reminded how wonderful wizarding tents were. Narcissa's tent obviously had two rooms – the smaller one served as her entrance area, with chairs and a small kitchen, while the larger one that they were presently in served as a _massive_ bedchamber. Right in the middle of the chamber was a luxurious bed with a large make-up table to the side.

Harry blushed.

Narcissa laughed. "Is this your first time in a woman's bedroom, Harry?" she asked.

Harry tried to stammer out a reply, but Narcissa waved a hand at him, indicating that was just pulling his leg. She then jabbed her wand at her bed and it shuffled to the side, clearing up a large space in the middle. Narcissa then moved to the opposite end of the room and faced him.

"Well?" she asked.

Harry shrugged. At this point, he was enjoying Narcissa's company far too much to protest.

 _And how bad could this duel be, anyway?_

After all, Harry wasn't known as one of the best duelers of his year for nothing.

Lucius Malfoy huffed irritably as he was ushered into the Minister's Conference Room, adjacent to the Office of the Minister of Magic, only to be met with the sight of Albus Dumbledore – and no one else. He managed to suppress the urge to sneer in the old fool's direction and inwardly cursed his decision to arrive at the conference early.

Lucius took a seat as far away from the Headmaster of Hogwarts as possible – the old man seemed to be humming a tune to himself, in any case, and seemed not to have noticed Lucius' entrance. Lucius looked at his timepiece and noticed that the dials seemed to indicate it was half an hour away from his regular lunchtime.

He leaned back in his chair and reminded himself _why_ he was here – for _Draco_. He was here for Draco. If it wasn't for his son, who he loved with all his heart, he wouldn't have been at his meeting – not to mention the fact that he would have broken his stupid little obligatory marriage with Narcissa Black a long time ago. It had been his _father_ who had insisted he marry a woman, when he wasn't even _attracted_ to that gender, with an eye on the Black legacy.

While the Malfoys were an obscenely rich family – more so than the Blacks – they had been a relatively new family to England at the time. As such, their influence had been far too restricted in England – no hereditary seats on the Council, no influence with the Ministry, no seat on the Hogwarts Board of Governors and so on and so forth. Thus, Abraxas Malfoy thought that his only son should marry Narcissa Black in order to wed the two families together and secure their rightful place in England's hierarchy of power.

And like a dutiful son, he had done so. He had grit his teeth, married the woman, and even survived a quick night with her, managing to produce an heir.

Of course, Lucius had always fantasized about doing away with the damn woman once Draco had been born, but he had come to realize that Draco needed a mother after all. And thus, Lucius and Narcissa had settled into a barely tolerable marriage, where their son was the only bond that made them keep up the farce.

For Draco's sake, Lucius hoped his wife was having some luck bending the Potter boy to his will. He had found out, through his contacts that Potter and his best friend would be in Scotland for the duration of the Quidditch World Cup and had secured a place for his wife on the same moor.

Unbeknownst to her though, he had more sinister plans once his wife _did_ secure Potter's friendship. Of course, if the Dark Lord arose, he could easily use his wife's influence to hand Potter over to the Dark Lord. But in case the Dark Lord did _not_ arise, there were so _many_ possibilities – he imagined the scandal it would cause if he let it slip that his wife was having an affair with _the_ Harry Potter and the defamation that would accompany such a scandalous affair. When the dust finally settled, Narcissa would be shamed, belittled and forced to slip away into obscurity, leaving him with full control of the Black wealth and the seats that she had inherited.

Of course, Sirius Black's recent release was a major obstacle to his plans, but a bribe here and a whisper there would be enough to give _him_ control of the Blacks' political power – he didn't much care if the old Black money went to the Black man-child.

If he held any affection at all for his wife, he would feel sorry for her. Luckily for him, there was no love lost between them – he would _relish_ the opportunity to drag her name through the mud. And if his luck held, even _Draco_ would start hating his mother and stop _needing_ her to support him. And thus, the Malfoy legacy would be secure.

He was startled from his thoughts as the Minister's entourage bustled in through the double doors and settled around the table.

Lucius smiled inwardly as the conference started. There was nothing more satisfying than plotting against people he _loathed_.

Harry slumped on the ground and grimaced as Narcissa towered above him.

Three duels. He had fought three duels so far, and had lost all three of those duels _miserably_. The first duel could _barely_ be called a duel – it had taken a single powerful spell from Narcissa, which barreled into his side and deprived him of his wand.

The second duel had been _slightly_ better – 'slightly' being a relative term. He had managed to dodge the first flurry of spells Narcissa sent at him and managed to get off a charm – a hasty Body-Bind – before he was sent flying off his feet.

And the third duel had been just as short as the first duel. He had barely gotten off a spell before Narcissa conjured a bloody _lion_ out of nowhere that charged at him and pinned him to the ground.

He was beginning to realize something substantial – Narcissa was _way_ out of his league.

"I'm beginning to _like_ this," Narcissa said delightedly, "I've got the Boy-Who-Lived kneeling between my _legs_. Oh, the witches at Hogwarts would be jealous and _mortified_ at the sight."

Harry half-coughed, half-laughed at the innuendo. For someone who could exude an elitist sort of sensuality with every movement, Narcissa sure could be _crass_.

"At least you're laughing," she said lightly.

"At least you haven't left a bruise, ma'am," he said, getting up and patting himself down.

"Three pumps and all out, are we, Harry?" Narcissa asked, sending Harry into a coughing fit again, backing away and readying her wand, "Don't have enough for at least one more go?"

Harry had to laugh at that. While the first defeat had been pretty humiliating, being defeated _thrice_ had a sobering effect on him. _After all_ , Harry thought, _now that I know I have no chance against her, I might as well go all out and learn something from this_.

"Hell yes," he said.

And with barely a warning, a crackle of lightning burst forth from Narcissa's wand. Harry rolled to the side, panting (he made a mental note to _really_ work on his stamina) and dodging it. Narcissa jabbed her wand towards him, compensating for his movements and the chain of lightning hit the patch of ground he had just vacated, leaving a scorch mark. It then _bounced_ off the ground towards him.

" _Aguamenti_!" Harry roared.

Harry frantically pushed forth a jet of water from his wand that sizzled into steam as it met with the lightning, snuffing it out. He then turned towards Narcissa, but she had already launched a stunning spell towards him, forcing him to duck and roll again. The stunning spell missed, and Narcissa launched a ball of what appeared to be red lightning at where he stopped his roll.

But Harry had anticipated that – his halt had been a feint. He continued to roll out and the ball of lightning missed him, though it managed to singe his left arm. Harry seized the momentum and came out in a crouch – his wand pointed straight at Narcissa and he focused his magic on his wand. He'd be _damned_ if he didn't go out with a fight.

A ball of what he called _Hermione's favorite_ \- bluebell flames - burst forth from his wand, catching Narcissa entirely off-guard. She quickly created a silvery, translucent shield which shattered as the fiery blue ball smashed into it. The shield and the ball of flames seemed to _pulse_ against each other for an entire second, and then the shield shattered, even as the flames vanished into thin air. And before Harry could react, Narcissa sent a flurry of ropes at him, which promptly tied him up. She then summoned his wand out of his hand.

Harry had lost yet another duel.

"This is _still_ ludicrous," Lucius said smoothly. He _wanted_ to snarl at the fools arrayed against him, but no one as accomplished as he was in politics would resort to threats so early in the game. "This isn't a World Cup or a Dueling Championship. It's a _Triwizard Tournament_. It's _for_ the students – that is its _purpose_."

Bartemius Crouch – the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation – looking older and wearier than ever, _tried_ to interrupt Lucius, but he was having none of that.

"My point is," Lucius continued, "It does not make _any_ sense whatsoever, to hold a magical tournament that is _meant_ for students, and then _disqualify_ ninety percent of those same students because of this flimsy idea of _safety_. If the tournament is for people who are of age already, then _why_ call it a tournament for _students_ of the three schools? Why not make it a full-fledged wizarding tournament where any adult can compete?"

"I agree," said Pius Thicknesse, Head of the International Magical Office of Law and an old friend of Lucius', "I suppose it's like holding a Hogwarts Quidditch Cup and _then_ saying only the final year students of Hogwarts are allowed to play Quidditch. It _is_ ridiculous – this idea of a tournament for students that disqualifies most of the students it's supposed to cater to."

"There has to be _some_ sort of age barrier though," Ludo Bagman said quickly, "Since you're all citing the Quidditch Cup as an example… even _that_ disqualifies first year students from participating."

"For good reason," Lucius said, "But it doesn't disqualify an overwhelming majority of students from participating, which is what everyone here seems to be proposing. For the record, I do not believe _any_ of us are suggesting that there should not be some sort of age barrier – all we're saying is that this _seventeen-year-olds and above_ age line is ridiculous."

The Minister of Magic – Cornelius Fudge, as befuddled as ever – fiddled with the bowler hat in his hands and looked at Lucius.

"What do you suggest, Lucius?" Fudge asked.

"That we make this tournament accessible to Fourth Years and above. Surely _fourteen_ is a better age limit than _seventeen_. A large portion of wizards and witches over that age have passed puberty, and have come into their own, at least in terms of magical power. Fourteen has _always_ been the traditional age limit for tournaments of this sort, Cornelius – this recent fixation on _seventeen_ is bewildering and insultingly… _muggle_ , in its sentiments."

Lucius smirked as he noticed quite a few of the muggle-lovers around the table stiffen. "After all," Lucius continued softly, "Even the age of _consent_ in our world is fourteen."

"And don't forget the Goblet itself," Thicknesse added quickly, "It's unlikely that the Goblet would choose an _unworthy_ candidate to participate, in any case. The enchanments the Goblet has been imbued with makes it more than capable of choosing worthy candidates."

"We all know _why_ Lucius is doing this," Crouch said mildly, "His son turns fourteen this year, does he not?"

Lucius snarled. "Now that you've brought it up, _yes_ , I believe my son is more than capable of handling the tasks in this tournament. Some of us take an active interest in the welfare of our children, Bartemius, and would _like_ to see those children achieve all they _can_. Unlike _some_ fathers I can name."

Lucius was rewarded with the sight of Crouch flushing in anger at the barb.

"Gentlemen, _please_ ," Fudge said, ever the spineless peacemaker, "Barty, Lucius represents not just the Board of Governors, but the _parents_ of Hogwarts as well. It is well within his rights to take his son into consideration during this discussion."

Crouch's lips thinned and he gave a tight nod.

"While I can see where Mister Malfoy is coming from," Albus Dumbledore interjected, "I am still concerned about the safety of _all_ of the students – seventeen _and_ below. The tasks – at least the draft outlines that we all received – are worrisome, to say the least."

Lucius sighed as the discussion continued around him. He chanced a glance at his timepiece. It looked like he was going to miss his regular lunch-time.

Narcissa panted; she had wanted to impress Harry by showing him how powerful she was. And so, when Harry had shouted out his previous incantation, she had created a _very_ complex shield that was taxing on her magical power, but incredibly powerful in its ability to block physical conjurations.

And the shield, by all rights, should have rendered her invulnerable to the common _cold fire_ spell. The bluebell flames _should_ have splashed upon her shield and extinguished themselves, leaving her gloriously untouched.

But the sheer _power_ of his conjuration had completely overwhelmed her. And her choice of shields had proven to be unfortunate – the shield had tried to counteract the power of his conjuration by drawing upon her magic, and had failed, exhausting her entirely and shattering her shield on impact.

And Harry, while down and tied up, looked as healthy and ready-to-go as ever.

The fourteen-year-old was _far_ more powerful than Narcissa had anticipated. She had suspected as much, considering the power of the simple spells he had been flinging around, but his last spell had sealed the deal. The boy was sitting on what appeared to be well of immense, primal power.

Even now, she could feel the _thrum_ of magic reverberating around him from his last effort.

Lucius had asked her to befriend the boy so that he could be used as leverage. But Harry was far too powerful to be used as mere leverage. He was _too_ powerful to be kept chained by the likes of Dumbledore. And he was _far_ too powerful and potent for her to resist _encouraging_ him down the path to power and glory.

Narcissa smiled as she waved her, causing the bound boy to float in mid-air, his back to the wall of the tent.

She drew close to him with an extra sway to her hips; she wasn't disappointed by Harry's reaction – he watched her sashay towards him with a gulp, his eyes never leaving the curve of her hips.

"I think I _like_ you like this, Harry," she breathed into his ear, running a hand along his bare fore-arm where he appeared to be singed. Magic poured out of her hand – a simple healing spell – and the reddish marks along his arm began to disappear. "All trussed up like a Christmas gift, ready for unwrapping and… _ravishing_."

He shivered, his lean muscles rippling through his forearm. Narcissa felt tingles run up her own arm at how helpless her handsome catch was – she _liked_ this. And she could _still_ feel the thrum of magical power running through him – it grew weaker as Harry calmed down, but it was still there, like a soft breeze that caressed her skin. She peered into his eyes, green and shimmering with hidden power.

She pressed up against him, her face barely a millimeter away from his own. He was blushing _adorably_. And then she felt it – _hard_ against her right thigh, which had him pinned against the canvas of the tent.

"And here I thought I'd deprived you of your wand," Narcissa whispered, "But from the feel of things, I'd definitely say the wand in my hand is the _smaller_ of the two."

Harry shivered again and whimpered through the rope that was muffling him.

Narcissa laughed, drew away from him and waved her wand lazily. The ropes fell away and Harry landed gracefully on the ground in a crouch, still blushing, breathing hard and, much to her amusement, trying to cover up his erection.

 _Oh, Narcissa thought, I'm going to do so much more than ravish you, Harry. I'm going to bend you. We're going on a ride, you and I, and I'm going to turn you into my very own fallen archangel._

For the first time in several years, Narcissa saw a way out of the rut her life had fallen into. For the first time, there truly _was_ a silver lining between the storm clouds.

"We're going nowhere with this," Crouch said stiffly, rubbing the edges of his neatly trimmed moustache, "If we open up the Triwizard Tournament to the lower years, we'd _have_ to go back to the drawing board and devise new tasks."

"Which I approve of," Dumbledore said before Lucius could respond.

As one, the conference table stared at the Headmaster.

"Ah, I merely meant that I approve of going back to the… drawing board," Dumbledore said with a smile, "I made it clear, even during the last meeting, that I do not approve of the tasks as they are."

Lucius sighed. For a moment, he had _almost_ believed the old fart was actually on his side.

"I hadn't heard of that," Bagman said. Crouch palmed his face.

"That's because you weren't _here_ for the previous meeting, Ludo," Crouch said sternly.

Fudge stalled Bagman before he could respond and said, "Albus had… er… concerns with the possible exploitation of sentient creatures for the tournament."

"Sentient _beings_ , Cornelius," Dumbledore said, "I do _not_ approve of using _nesting_ dragons and _live_ eggs for the First Task. Nor do I think the Merpeople will think any better of us if we force them to cede territory to us for what they see as a human _game_. And the third task is _mind-boggling_ in its attempt to alienate the various magical creatures that live alongside us – live acromantula? Blast-ended skrewts? Trolls?

"These creatures could be _injured_ during the course of this tournament! And they could _inflict_ injury upon our students! I cannot stress how much I disagree with this strange notion that sentient beings may be treated as playthings simply because they are not _human_."

Crouch just shrugged wearily. Lucius could sympathize with Crouch – he had heard these moronic arguments a dozen times already from Dumbledore during the past few meetings.

"And while I take no pleasure in repeating this time and again, I would like to remind this board," Dumbledore continued, undeterred by the lack of enthusiasm for his viewpoint around the table, "We are _wizards_ and _witches_. We can craft challenging tasks without availing ourselves for the abilities of abused and oft-belittled beings."

Lucius sat up at that. Perhaps there _was_ a way he could work with the opening Dumbledore had granted him.

"Well, _there's_ an idea," he said, entirely serious.

The meeting members looked nonplussed at the idea of Lucius and Dumbledore on the same side of the argument for once. Lucius continued, "Let's go back to the drawing board. Kill two doxies with a single spell. Devise tasks that do _not_ depend on the unpredictability of sentient… ah… _beings_."

Lucius spat out the last word, indicating his disdain for the idea of mere creatures being exalted as _beings_ by Dumbledore. But he didn't want to spend too much time dwelling on the trees lest he lose sight of the forest.

"Re-draw the tasks. Devise them to be more… controlled, but maintain the _challenge_ and the thrill of the competition. Wards, spells and enchantments – they can all used to control the inherent unpredictability that comes with the use of mere beasts," Lucius said, "And then, open up the Tournament to the lower years."

Fudge fiddled with the rim of his hat nervously as he nodded to his Undersecretary.

The shrill voice of Dolores Umbridge echoed through the conference room, "Very well, ladies, gentlemen. We shall create a draft proposal based on the ideas we have expounded upon so far, and shall then call a vote."

Harry walked out of the tent, entirely dazed and exhausted. After that last duel, Narcissa had practically run him ragged, asking him to perform spells for her, as if gauging his abilities. And then, apparently satisfied with what she had learnt, she had begun to _teach_ him the basics of non-verbal incantations and a few new _amazing_ spells, some of which seemed to harness his very _emotions_. He had mastered the lightning spell Narcissa had used quickly enough, but the other spells still took him a bit of effort.

Truth be told, Harry was _amazed_ at how skilled Narcissa was with a wand – and then he blushed as he realized what _else_ she had called a _wand_ during their last duel (and he _knew_ he would fantasizeabout how skilled she'd be with _that_ sort of wand in the near future... to say the least). Either way, he _wanted_ … _desired_ … to see her more often and was completely overwhelmed when she had invited him over the next day, after the Ireland-Brazil Quidditch match. Harry could not _wait_ to see her again, and… learn from her. He could barely believe a woman like _that_ was talking to _him_ , of all people.

But he was roused from his daydreaming when he notice that the sun was way too high up in the sky for it to be early morning any more.

 _Holy crap_ , Harry thought incredulously as he realized he had been talking to Narcissa for the better part of an entire _day_. He hurried back to camp, hoping Ron and Sirius weren't too worried about his long absence.

 _And even if they do scold me_ , Harry thought with a wild smile on his face as he remembered how Narcissa had pressed up against him – the stuff of _every_ single future fantasy he would have from that moment onwards, _it'd be totally worth it_.

Lucius whistled a jaunty tune as he left the conference room. Granted, Ludo did not look _too_ happy at the idea of re-working the Triwizard Tournament and its tasks, but Lucius could not care less. At the very least, he had managed to open up the Triwizard Tournament to at least half the students of magical Europe, with its new age requirement of fourteen and above.

And at best, he had paved the way for Draco to come into his own and find glory during the Triwizard Tournament. Granted, there was still the fact that the Goblet of Fire would choose which student would participate, but the Malfoy bloodline was powerful, and Lucius would eat his cane if there was a student at Hogwarts more powerful than his own _son_.

Lucius may have missed his regular lunch-time, but he thought this small victory was more than worth it.


	4. Sparks Fly

Sparks Fly

Harry stared up at the bare ceiling of his own room, darkened wood gleaming in the pale light of morning.

 _So different, he thought, so different from the ceiling of her tent, with its dryads and spirits and twinkling lights._

He had changed a lot. Nearly a month had passed since his first encounter with Narcissa, and here he was, staring up at his own ceiling, lost in happy memories. She had taught him much (' _Teaching? Is that what they call it?' a part of his mind that sounded a lot like Hermione asked sternly_ )– he was proficient at non-verbal spells ( _'Yeah, non-verbal spells. Suuuuure,' said a part that sounded like Ron_ ), and was fairly certain he wouldn't have much problem with non-verbal incantations in the future, though he knew he'd have to practice hard to get some of the more arcane and powerful spells she'd taught him.

And he had learned how to harness _emotion_ and truly wield some powerful magic. Harry knew he should have made the connection between powerful magic and emotion earlier, considering the fact that the most powerful spell he had cast in his life before his training with Narcissa – the Patronus Charm – had been powered by _happiness_. Apparently, happiness was not the only emotion that could be channeled into magic. Rage – which Harry possessed in spades, _had_ possessed since his childhood at Privet Drive – could be channeled into magic too. And there seemed to be an abundance of spells which used rage as an emotional focus. Mostly destructive in nature, but _mighty_ nonetheless.

Harry had also learned the basics, at the very least, of mixing transfiguration into duels, though he knew it would be a while before he could even begin to keep pace with Narcissa's mastery of the form. But he was beginning to _get_ transfiguration now - the comprehensive visualization involved, the feel of magic curling up within him and then unleashing it to give form to what was in his mind.

But, if he was being _really_ honest with himself, the highlights of his daily meetings with her, which lasted anywhere from one hour to several hours driving Sirius and Ron batty, weren't the dueling lessons she had so graciously taught him.

No, the highlight of his sessions was learning a branch of magic he had never been acquainted with before – magic of the _mind_. It seemed so far-fetched, even now that he was passably acquainted with the mental arts, but Narcissa _had_ taught him the basics of Occlumency, and her teaching methods were… persuasive, to say the least.

" _Emotions are powerful, Harry," she said, scooting closer to him on the carpeted floor of the tent, "Passion is a powerful focus for the more… arcane and powerful forms of magic. And it comes naturally to you – so powerful, so young, so… passionate. And I love it when my men are passionate."_

 _Harry blushed, and then berated himself for falling prey to her innuendo again. It had been two whole weeks already, but he still wasn't quite used to her frequent euphemisms and overt flirtations._

" _Nonetheless, emotions are like wildfire," she said, "Letting go of them can be a powerful means of overwhelming your opponents, but like wildfire, if it isn't controlled, your own magic shall turn on you. And the forest shall be consumed."_

" _I don't follow," Harry said, puzzled._

" _Magic that is powered by emotion can be unwieldy – it's primal, it's the sort of thing that results in uncontrolled, accidental magic. Of course, it's admirable that you've managed to use it of your own volition in so short a time, but did you notice what happened there at the end?"_

 _Harry nodded and then glanced at where his ball of lightning – that he had powered with induced rage, hearkening back to a memory whence he had been chased up a tree by Aunt Marge's pitbull – had burst out of control, scorching Narcissa's make-up table. She had repaired it quickly enough, but it still made him feel a bit guilty._

" _The problem is," she continued, "Magic such as this, magic that is powered more by emotion than cold, practiced movements, can spiral out of control, consuming you and exhausting you. Passion can be fiery, but more often than not, it causes men and women to expend themselves… prematurely."_

 _Harry ignored the innuendo and nodded. He had felt the drain on his magic as his spell had spiraled out of control._

" _So, perhaps it's time to teach you all about occluding the mind… it's time to teach you control," she said._

Harry closed his eyes and breathed, drawing upon the technique she had shown him. Where thoughts were welcomed, but the emotion attached to each thought was slowly drained away – an easier technique than completely emptying the mind of all thought. Thus, Harry was told he could focus on the _flow_ of thoughts, spot an intrusion by a Legilimens, and then concentrate on deflecting it. And learn to dissociate memories from emotions, calling upon one or the other as needed.

However, Narcissa's later techniques to get him to grasp the principles of Occlumency as quickly as humanly possible had been… less orthodox.

" _Do you know why the Levitation spell is the first spell that is taught to First Years, Harry?" Narcissa asked._

" _You've told me before," Harry replied, "It's a spell that doesn't really need much magic to power it, and it doesn't quite need as much visualization or emotion."_

" _Ah, glad you remembered," Narcissa said, sounding pleased, "But it does require a lot of concentration. The slightest slip in concentration, and the item you're levitating shall be borne off course."_

" _Is that why I'm doing this?" Harry asked, focusing on the ball that he was levitating in the air at that moment. "I'm not sure this is teaching me much, to be honest," he grumbled._

 _Narcissa laughed, and then leaned in, sidling up to him, her soft breasts touching his side._

 _The levitating ball dipped before Harry got it back under control._

" _Oh, really?" she breathed, her voice transitioning smoothly from professorial authority to sultry siren._

" _I… I…" Harry stammered, as he strove to maintain focus on the ball. His peripheral senses suddenly became hyper-sensitive – he was aware of how her long, curly, golden locks hung in front of her face framing her beautiful blue eyes, of how her dainty fingers were squeezing his arm ever so softly, of the stiff nipples on her soft breasts that, even now, brushed against his shoulder._

 _Narcissa's hands crept up his forearm, nails dragging ever so lightly over his bare skin. And to make things worse, it was his wand hand that she was feeling up._

" _Focus," she breathed. Harry felt magic wash over him and his t-shirt vanished._

 _He squeaked and the ball trembled in place. Miraculously, Harry still managed to maintain focus. 'Dammit, Harry,' he thought to himself, 'Focus on the bloody ball. This is a dream. This is a dream. This can't be real. This can't be happening.'_

" _Good boy," Narcissa said, her perfectly proportioned nose now practically against his right cheek, her breasts now pressed firmly into his side. A lilac perfume wafted through his nostrils – a scent he had long since identified as Narcissa's. While the blonde woman did get up close and personal often during their lessons, she had never been this close before._

 _And then she was behind him – he could feel her clothed breasts on his back, even as she hugged him from behind, her hands now skirting over his chest._

" _Mmmmm," she purred, running her palms over his chest, each touch teasing out goosebumps over his skin, "So lean and hard. Been exercising, have we?"_

" _Every morning," Harry managed to squeak out, as his wand trembled in his hand. He was barely keeping the ball aloft now._

 _Her hand trailed down, ever so slowly, tracing his flat, hard stomach and then teasing his bellybutton with her forefinger. He whimpered. Narcissa giggled, and to his simultaneous horror and amazement, her fingers travelled to the button of his jeans._

 _Harry could barely believe it – this was the stuff of some sort of weird Playwizard fantasy. This had to be a dream. A dream he hoped he'd never ever wake up from._

 _And with an unzipping sound, his jeans came loose. Harry yelped and widened his stance so that his jeans wouldn't quite fall off, but they were right around his shins now. The floating ball was practically zig-zagging as Harry's focus wavered._

 _Narcissa's laughter reverberated through his ears as her hands sunk right into his boxers. Harry was panting now; he'd be damned if every single muscle in his body wasn't trembling at the moment. And it was a miracle that the Wingardium Leviosa spell was still keeping the ball afloat._

" _Oh sweet, sweet Morgana!" Narcissa exclaimed, even as he felt her hands coil around his hardness, "This is unexpectedly… manly? And a bit intimidating, if I was being honest."_

 _Harry wanted to ask her why it was intimidating, but then her hands started to move and he lost all track of thought. Dimly, he noticed that the ball was trembling in place._

" _Hnnnn," Harry moaned as Narcissa started tugging on his meat, her hands tightening around his shaft._

" _So… big… and hard… and hot," she whispered and he felt her place kisses along the side of his bare neck, even as she massaged his penis, "So unseemly and so bestial on a body this athletic."_

 _Harry knew he'd be lying if he said he was at even close to his best, at least as far as the damn Leviosa spell was concerned. His magic faltered, trying to remain dispassionate, even as a storm of lust battered away at it. He had never felt this good before – he had never realized how… small and dainty her fingers were, how soft her touch was, how divine her hands were. Her kneading technique wasn't quite what he would call skilled, but then again, he had nothing to compare it to except for his own hands. That said, he was overwhelmed by the fact that it was a really, really beautiful woman touching him… down there._

 _His foreskin moved deliciously along his shaft, tugged along as Narcissa whispered sweet nothings into his ear, stopping her whispering only to furnish him with soft kisses. But her hands never stopped. Her hands merely squeezed and pulled and kneaded and…_

 _And it was over in barely a minute. Harry groaned as he came in spurts all over the floor to the sound of Narcissa giggling and the ball that he had held aloft with his magic bounced on the floor as his spell winked out._

" _Scourgify," Narcissa said in an amused voice, clearing all traces of his ejaculate, even as Harry slumped on the floor, completely befuddled and still not believing that had happened to him, "That was… a massive series of spurts. I'm impressed."_

 _Harry merely panted, his mind still trying to process the series of events that had just transpired._

" _I'm going to remember that look on your face forever," she said, delighted, "But alas! Harry, you failed. It looks like we shall need a lot more practice before you learn how to truly focus and learn… control."_

 _Harry stared up at her through his post-orgasmic haze. 'She… didn't just say what I think she said, did she?' he thought._

 _She raised an eyebrow at him._

" _Yes ma'am," Harry panted, "More practice. Definitely more practice."_

 _And Narcissa laughed._

Harry smiled as the memories washed over him – this was a summer to remember for sure, and it wasn't even over yet. Unfortunately for him though, their Quidditch Cup tour had come to an end – they were all asked to vacate the moor to make way for preparations for the final match: Bulgaria versus Ireland. And so, Harry, Ron and Sirius had returned to their respective homes for two days, after which, they would return for the final match. Of course, the entire Weasley family and his mother would accompany them for the final – the camping part of the summer was definitely over, much to his chagrin. But she _had_ promised to meet him for the final match.

Harry had realized by now that he had a _huge_ crush on the woman – although, part of him even knew that this was probably just a summer fling for _her_. But he still hoped for more; he could not help his optimism.

He could feel her hands even now, soft as silk, brushing over his bare skin, stimulating him, groping, fondling, squeezing, lips tracing wet kisses all over his body. Granted, they had never gone beyond a handjob – all in the name of _training_ , of course, though Harry had long since come to suspect there were safer and less hands-on methods of teaching someone how to focus.

Nonetheless, he wasn't complaining. Apart from the… _amazing_ benefits… of Narcissa's technique, he _had_ noticed how his ability to focus, and separate himself from his emotions, had been augmented, to say the least. During their last… _slick_ … session, he had managed to maintain focus _through_ his orgasm – _and_ it had taken her an entire half-hour to get him off.

He _knew_ others would be disgusted, or dismayed, at what had transpired between him and Narcissa. But he didn't quite care. He had a _huge_ crush on the woman, and best of all, his crush had come to some sort of fruition.

This was indeed a summer to remember.

"Ladies, _please_ ," Sirius scoffed as he sat at the table in Lily's kitchen after he had dropped Harry off at Godric's Hollow, "I was the _perfect_ babysitter."

Lily merely shook her head as she prepared a kettle of tea. Molly, whose head was floating in the green fire of Lily's chimney, rolled her eyes at Sirius' self-embellishment.

" _Please_ , Sirius," Molly said, exasperated, "Ron may not be so forthcoming with me, but you forget that he's more than willing to trade gossip with his siblings. Who, in turn, are more than willing to rat him out to me. We know of your… _philandering_."

Sirius spluttered and Lily laughed.

"Molly," he gasped in a scandalized voice, "Well I _never_! Oh, my word, how dare you level such… _libelous_ accusations against my saintly self!"

"It's hardly libelous if it's true, Sirius," Lily chimed in, "And _saintly_? _Sanctimonious_ is more like it, you buffoon."

Sirius puffed up his chest as if he was about to protest, but then seemed to think better of it, and deflated. "Okay, so maybe I lived a little. The boys are hardly _nine_ , Molly. They're _fourteen_."

Molly shook her head. "Well," she said finally in a tired voice, "I don't think their being _nine_ would've stopped you from your debauchery, Sirius."

Sirius opened his mouth to protest but Molly shooed him off. "However," she said, "I _am_ grateful. Thank you for accompanying Ron to this camp – it meant the world to him to see his favorite game."

"Well," Sirius said, waggling his eyebrows, "If you're _really_ grateful, Molly, I can always use another of your _delicious_ fudge brownies. In giant size."

"Sirius!" Lily cried indignantly, but Molly merely smiled and signed out after a hearty goodbye. The flame turned orange-red again.

The shaggy-haired man turned to Lily. "I'd ask you for a fudge brownie too," he said, "But I've tasted your cooking before. So… uh… I'll desist."

Lily brandished her wand at him.

"Okay, okay!" Sirius said, raising his palms up in surrender, "I give up! Just kidding… well… not really, but y'know…"

"I'm pretty sure I know a charm that causes dysfunction of a sort I'm _sure_ you can appreciate, Sirius," Lily said and jabbed her wand at the kettle of tea, causing it to heat up.

Sirius quickly changed subjects. "Oooh!" he said, and leaned in conspiratorially, "I didn't tell you about Harry now, did I?"

Lily arched an eyebrow at Sirius. He was usually as insufferable as Petunia was back during Lily's childhood when he started trading gossip, but now that he had mentioned _Harry_ , _she_ was curious too.

"Harry's got a girlfriend!" Sirius finished in a loud whisper.

Lily, who'd been half-focusing on the kettle of tea she had set to boil, snapped around to face Sirius. He looked disconcerted by her sudden movement.

"What?" she asked, feeling strangely irked, "He… _what_?"

"He's got a girlfriend," Sirius said wistfully, "Just… don't tell him I told you! He was being as subtle about it as a hippogriff in heat though."

"A hippogriff in… _Sirius_!" she said, exasperated, "You're joking, aren't you?"

Sirius looked genuinely bewildered. "For once, Lily," he said, "I'm actually being _serious_. Like my _namesake_."

Lily palmed her face. "Sirius, you ran that joke into the ground _years_ ago," she said.

"Well…" Sirius started, but Lily interjected quickly.

"How do you _know_ he's got a girlfriend?" she asked, sounding waspish, even to herself.

"Well," Sirius said, "For one, _Ron_ told me he's got one – saw Harry go up to talk to this pretty Hogwarts bird one day in the morning. And he came back four hours later with this big goofy smile on his face."

"His girlfriend is… she's a student?" Lily asked faintly.

"Yup," Sirius said proudly, "And she's a year above him, from what Ron's told me. A 'really hot Ravenclaw' is what he said. I'm so proud of him – he's chasing after the older ladies already!"

Sirius' smile turned wistful as he reminisced, "It's like me and Ellie… you remember Ellie, right? Oh the things that woman could do with her…"

"Sirius, shut _up_ ," Lily said stiffly, "I… did he meet her often?"

"Every single _day_!" Sirius exclaimed, "I'm telling you, Lily – it's puppy _love_! Hell, he's started doing all these weird exercises in the morning too!"

"He's… _what_?" Lily asked, bewildered.

"You know… jogging and huffing and puffing and push-ups and all sorts of weird exercises," Sirius said, and shuddered, "If that isn't a sign of a full-blown crush, I don't know what is."

Lily grit her teeth. "Sirius," she said evenly, "I sent you to accompany Harry so that you could keep an _eye_ on him. As opposed to letting him gallivant around that moor with some _tramp_!"

Lily regretted it as soon as she said it. Sirius looked at her, completely confused.

"You're being _really_ weird," he said, "It's not like he was learning dark magic on the side or something, Lily. He was just meeting some girl and having fun."

"Did they… have they…?" Lily asked, making a frantic motion with her hands.

" _Okay_ ," Sirius said as he backed away, "This is getting _really_ creepy. But I sincerely doubt it – Harry's a pathetic liar, and each time we asked him about his virginity, he'd start blushing and stammering all over the place. It's _adorable_ … if a bit mushy for my tastes."

Lily shifted from foot to foot, and the kettle behind her whistled. She paid it no mind. Dark thoughts were rushing hard and fast through her head.

"What is _with_ you?" Sirius asked, "Is it that time of the…"

"Shut up," Lily said, cutting him off, "I'm… alright. Just… tired, I guess, with all the studying and preparing for Hogwarts."

Sirius shook his head in amusement. "Same old Lily," he said, "Studying and working so hard and then snapping at the rest of us poor souls for no reason at all."

Lily smiled weakly at him. "If you're talking about Hogwarts," she said wearily, "I'm pretty sure I had _plenty_ good reason to snap at you."

Sirius shrugged.

"What's her name?" Lily asked finally, "This little… _girl_. What's her name?"

"Oh… Chang… something or another. You'd be better served asking Ron," Sirius said. He then looked at the clock in the corner of the kitchen and his eyes widened.

"Dammit!" he said, scrambling for the floo powder above the chimney, "Okay, Lily I have to go. The Chinese take-out near my place closes early on Sundays."

"Maybe you should try cooking for yourself," Lily snapped at Sirius.

"Yeah, well, maybe _you_ should try it too," Sirius snapped back, nodding towards the half-eaten wrapped spaghetti on the table that Lily had ordered out from a nearby Italian eatery.

Sirius seized some floo powder and sprinkled it over the fire, turning the fire emerald green. "The Veela Palace of Pleasure!" he roared, stepping into the floo.

Nothing happened. Lily stared at him.

Sirius shrugged. "One of these days," he said firmly, "That's totally going to work."

Lily merely shook her head, completely nonplussed.

"Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place," Sirius sighed and he vanished through the floo in a haze of emerald smoke.

Lily sniffed and glared at her kettle as it let out yet another whistle. Envy, rage and sorrow – rolled up into a tight ball of emotion – were coursing through her veins now, and she had a _very_ good idea as to _why_.

Lily stomped up the stairs, taking them two at a time. For some reason, she remembered a painting she had seen a long time ago – a Monet painting called _Cliff Walk at Pourville_. Two ladies in white, standing at the edge of a cliff that looked over an azure blue sea. Lily remembered how she had first seen the painting as a child and had clutched her mother's hand fearfully, asking her if the ladies in the painting were at risk of falling over the edge.

 _Her mother had smiled and said, "No, love, those ladies are being careful. See? They're not going to tip over the edge of that cliff unless they want to."_

It had been a strangely morbid thing to say, at the time.

 _Unless they want to._

She had no idea _why_ she was climbing these stairs. A large part of her wanted to barge into Harry's room and _demand_ answers. Part of her wanted to strangle the little tramp that had stolen Harry from her.

 _But then again, a hesitant part of herself reminded her, you never really had him in the first place._

She lent no credence to the hesitant voice in her head. She _might_ have paid attention to it, were she a pathetic little _Ravenclaw_ hussy like that Chang girl, but she was a _Gryffindor_. She _wanted_ to charge into this situation and take it by the horns.

She _wanted_ to leap over the edge of the damn cliff. She was tired of dawdling and gawking at the scenery.

It was only when she cleared the stairs and stood right in front of the closed door to Harry's bedroom that she stopped to consider her actions.

 _What am I doing?_

Lily knew what was _really_ happening – she knew that she was _attracted_ to Harry… that her very magic was calling out to her… to talk to him, to claim him, to seize his heart and never let go.

And she _was_ jealous. Of this _Chang_ girl.

 _Dammit, Lily, grow a spine. Just get in there and talk to him. You're a Gryffindor. Chin up and go right in. Talk to him._

Lily pushed at Harry's door gently, clearing her throat softly.

And then stopped as she heard the sounds emanating from the room.

 _Clap, clap, clap, clap…_

The sound of flesh hitting flesh. And _scraping_ , and panting.

 _Oh no no no, Lily thought, her heart sinking, I should really go. This really isn't the time. I'm too close to the edge. No, no…_

But her legs refused to move. She opened the door a bit more and peeked.

Her hunch had been right.

 _I shouldn't be seeing this, I shouldn't be… oh no no…_

And despite herself, Lily stared at Harry. He was facing away from her, looking right at the ceiling as he lay on his bed, his right hand whipping over his penis.

Lily's first thought was downright annoying. _That looks nothing like James_.

Harry was pumping his hard, stout, downright _enormous_ penis. Granted, Lily could hardly say that she had seen her fair share of man-parts – the only one she was truly acquainted with had been James. But James had been average-sized, from what she had read and heard, if a tad full of himself and skilled because of his substantial experience.

Harry was not even _close_ to average. It looked as if he was wielding a club between his legs.

And _worse_ , Lily couldn't pull her eyes away from the sight. She whimpered softly and knelt right at the door, her fingers snaking up her own skirt and into her panties, frantically digging and searching… for _something_.

He was _furious_ in his onslaught on himself – his fist was moving like a piston, slapping down brutally on his balls, which were out of Lily's sight between his thighs, and then _tugging_ up at his penis, all the way to his spongy dome, which looked like the end of a battering ram – wide and blunt and capable of _punching_ through flesh.

Lily's legs tightened around her own fingers as they pinched her clit and she gasped.

 _This is so wrong, she thought to herself, Oh goodness, he's huge._

Lily _knew_ she should be making excuses for her behavior at the moment – that she should rationalize her actions by thinking it had been forever since she had _scored some_ , or that she wasn't looking at Harry like he was her _son_ … or _something_ … but at that moment, she had ceased to be herself. At that moment, she was a wanton young woman, gazing upon something taboo and ludicrously attractive, and had been swept along the path of _desire_.

"Harry," she whispered as she frigged herself, "Oh _fuck_ , Harry…"

 _And despite herself, a part of her mind was abuzz with envy. Was he thinking about Chang? Was he thinking about some pathetic little girl as he tugged at his enormous, juicy shaft?_

Harry grunted at that moment and turned sideways, _towards_ her, with his cock _jerking_ spasmodically as it spurt out dollops of thick, white ejaculate, all over the side of the bed.

Lily froze as Harry turned to face her, his cock spewing cum. Luckily for her though, his eyes were closed and after he settled from his orgasm, they remained closed, even as he slumped onto the bed sideways with a smile on his face.

Lily backed away from the door frantically and practically ran down the stairs, anchoring a silencing charm to her feet wandlessly so Harry wouldn't hear her footsteps.

And eventually, she slumped down in the sitting room on a large sofa she had purchased the previous summer, panting.

"That was… _insane_ ," she gasped quietly.

And then she looked at her fingers – the very same fingers that had been buried in her panties not five minutes ago. They were _soaked_ with arousal. Harry had not been the only one that had _come_.

At that moment, Lily was struck by an epiphany.

She had _long_ since fallen over the edge. It was time for her to realize it and _act_ upon it. Before it was too late.


	5. Escape and Confrontation

Escape and Confrontation

Walls of stone. Dark, dank spaces. The distant roar of sea against shore. A tiny little slit that leads to a canvas of stars.

 _One._

The woman pushed herself off the ground, her arms rising completely off the ground with her momentum. She then clapped her arms in mid-air and then fell back to the damp floor, her hands swinging back into position as she dipped into another push-up.

 _Two_.

Another push, _clap_ and then back to the grind.

 _Three_.

And her hands collapsed. The woman slammed into the ground, face first, her chin bouncing painfully of the wet, black stone.

She shrugged it off. She knew pain. This was not pain – this was a reminder that she still drew _breath_.

She lay face down on the ground wearily, disappointed at her exercise count. There had been a time when her lithe, athletic body could handle this task with ease, but the prison had drained her strength away. Her striking, beautiful physical appearance had long since disappeared, leaving behind a skeletal husk that was far removed from her past beauty.

But then again, she still drew breath.

And she was still loyal.

They still had reason to be afraid. _Very_ afraid.

She pushed herself off the ground and felt the darkness seep in towards her. She stiffened and wondered why it was already here, ahead of the regular patrol. It was getting close to meal time – even in _her_ ward, the undead guards never came to her cell close to meal time.

She cackled. "Come get me, you bony fucks!" she screeched. And her laughter grew shrill as she realized _they_ weren't the only bony fucks around. _She_ was a bony fuck too these days.

She rushed to the bars of her cell and stuck her face between them. Of course, her face did not quite fit between the charmed prison bars, but her nose stuck out beyond her cage as she pressed her cheeks into the bars.

"Are you listening in on my thoughts? ARE YOU?" she screamed, "Then you _know_ that I'm one of _you_! Because I'm a bony _fuck_! Get it? Get it?"

And then she threw her head back and laughed shrilly again. Because it was _funny_. So _funny_.

She drew other happy memories to the forefront of her mind. She wondered if her guards enjoyed jokes in the first place, but she persisted.

"Oh, here's another funny one," she said eagerly, "Once, this rat tried to scurry around the floor. I caught it and tore the skin off its belly with my nails. And then I put it back on the floor. It tried to scurry away nonchalantly, like nothing had happened, but then I saw its organs drop. One after the other. _Plop. Plop. Plop._ Through the slit I made!"

She laughed uproariously. And then stopped abruptly as she realized that joke didn't quite have a punchline. She screeched angrily. How _dare_ she crack an impromptu joke that didn't have a punchline.

"Father would be _mad_!" she cackled, "Father would be _mad_ at the clumsy joke! Clumsy jokes make for awkward laughter! Awkward laughter means bad impressions! Bad, BAD BAD! BAD GIRL!"

She rattled the bars of her _home_ , which in turn rattled _her_ head. And her head bounced around – like a gnome with head decapitated _just_ the right way. She had seen that too, once, a long time ago. But she didn't dare crack a joke about that… at least not till she discovered a proper set-up and punchline.

The darkness grew closer and loomed just around the corner of the cell at the end of her row.

"Sirius isn't there anymore, you bony _fucks_!" she screamed, rattling the bars of her cage once more, "He's gone, gone, GONE! GONE GONE GONE! Just like before. Aunt Wahlberga will be mad MAD MAD! MAD MAD MAD!"

And then the darkness was practically upon her.

But she frowned. The chill, the sense of horror, the bone-rattling sound of a Dementor's Breath… none of those things accompanied the darkness. This was a _different_ darkness.

Was she imagining things again?

" _Lady Death, Lady Death,_ " she sang, a little ditty from her childhood popping to the forefront of her broken mind, " _Catch me while I still draw breath_!"

The darkness – wisps of inky smoke – snuck into her cell, surrounded her and then suddenly withdrew into a ball behind her, which then disappeared in a flash. And the figure of a man inside her cell was revealed as she whipped around, facing away from the bars. A handsome young man with rather sharp features and scraggly brown hair.

She _was_ imagining things again.

"You're gone GONE GONE!" she cackled, pointing, "Dead! _Lady Death, Lady Death,_ she caught you!"

And the specter spoke, his voice just like she remembered. "No," he said calmly, "I never died."

He reached out and pinched her arm. The woman flinched, and then stared at the rather _solid_ specter. She had never imagined anything like _this_ before.

The man jerked his head to her left forearm. She looked at him a while longer, puzzled, and then shrugged as she realized she was bored. She might as well obey the whims and fancies of her imaginary friend.

So she pulled up the left sleeve of her tattered robe and glanced at the usual spot on her left forearm.

And then stared at it.

Like blood seeping through pierced flesh, wild cheer bubbled up inside her, worked its way up and escaped her mouth in a peal of laughter.

Her _mark_ was visible. Faint, but it was visible. The skull, with a snake extending out from its mouth.

He was _back_.

And then her laughter stopped just as abruptly as it began.

"Where is he?" she asked, looking around desperately as if expecting someone else to pop out from the darkness.

"He isn't here. He has not recovered… not yet, anyway," the man standing opposite her rasped, "Even a god needs a period of rest, Bella. But even a resting god is powerful. After all, I _am_ standing in what is supposed to be an airtight prison, thanks to _His_ grace."

"How…" she began to ask, but then gasped as the man held out his palm, showing her a golden ring with an ominous stone nestled within. The stone wasn't a stone so much as a solid… _something_ … crafted from whatever was the opposite of light – it seemed to practically _radiate_ darkness.

"His _ring_ ," she gasped, "He gave it to you."

"To save _you_ ," the man rejoined, "To reward you for your loyalty. Your faith."

Bellatrix laughed again and knelt upon the ground, tears of wild happiness dripping down from her eyes. She still drew _breath_. And she was still loyal.

She then wiped her eyes and looked up at the man, who held out his left hand to her, even as he raised the ring to his mouth and whispered a few words she did not quite catch. Dark tendrils reached out from the ring and engulfed them, hemming them in protectively. But she could still see the man and he could see her – the darkness cradled them, the most faithful of their order.

The man then pulled out a pouch from his left pocket, even as she watched on, happily bewildered.

He threw it onto a roiling mass of wispy black mass at his feet. Then he pointed his wand at the pouch and it rolled in on itself, vanishing into the black ether and revealing an unconscious brunette.

"She looks a bit like me," the conscious dark-haired woman asked, "Is she a replacement?"

The woman cackled as soon as the words left her mouth. A _replacement_ – she really was killing it today.

"Yes," the man said, "Some squib I picked up in Bulgaria. Resembled you closely enough – and the dementors don't care about what the person looks like as long as she has happy memories to feast on. A soul was in this cell, and a soul shall remain in this cell – they won't even know we've swapped you out. That's how _I_ escaped."

"I bet your replacement wasn't as handsome," the woman said, winking her eyes flirtatiously at the man.

"It was my _mother_ ," the man snarled.

The woman grew silent, completely confused. The man sighed.

"Never mind," he said, extending his hand out to her in the darkness. She saw the unconscious replacement _wink_ out of her dark reality and fall back into the dank little cell. _Oh it'll be such a great surprise for the squib_ , the woman thought happily to herself, _waking up in Azkaban_.

"But what about the aurors?" she asked, "They will see her and know it's not me."

The man waved her concerns off. "She's under a powerful _Imperius_ curse. Tomorrow, at around noon, she shall mutilate herself by banging her head repeatedly against the walls. No one's going to know the difference after that."

She grinned at the man. "I _love_ the way your devious little brain works," she said.

"Now _come_. The dementors cannot see us. The guards cannot see us. No one can, so long as Slytherin's ring is still in my hand," the man said as he shook his open palm that wasn't holding the ring at her.

She grasped his hand and then rose to her feet.

She still drew breath. And she would soon be free.

"Come, Bella," the man said gently, "Let us go back to where we belong."

 _Time to work on that push-up count_ , Bellatrix Lestrange thought happily to herself as she skipped along behind Bartemius Crouch Jr., the darkness escorting them out from the bowels of Azkaban and back into a world that was ripe for plucking with no trouble at all.

"Hermione!" Harry said happily as he met his friend after a long summer, "You alright?"

Hermione hugged him affectionately and then drew away, looking critically over at him. Harry blushed.

"Been working out, have we?" she asked neutrally.

"Ha!" Ron said as he pointed at Harry and laughed.

Hermione let go of his arms and turned to Ron. "Something I should know?" she asked curiously.

"Oh he _has_ been working out!" Ron said, ignoring the frantic gestures that Harry was making at him behind Hermione's back, "But ask him _why_! Go on! Ask him!"

Hermione turned back to him, with crossed arms and a raised eyebrow.

Luckily for him, his mother chose to appear right at that moment with a handful of chocolate. She shoved it into Ron's hands. "Here you go," she said and looked around. And then her face burst out into a smile as she spotted Hermione.

"Hermione!" she said, "How are you? When did you arrive?"

Hermione blushed, much to Harry's utter confusion and said in a rush, "I'm… fine, Ms. Potter. I thought I'd arrive ahead of Mr Weasley to meet up with Harry and Ron. The others are still at the campsite."

"Hermione," Lily said, exasperated, "You _can_ call me Lily. And you _may_. Please, each time you call me Ms. Potter, I start ducking to avoid my mother-in-law."

Hermione nodded and smiled, but said nothing.

"What's with you?" Ron asked, as blunt as ever, and munched happily on his chocolate bar.

"Shut up, Ron," Hermione muttered, even as Lily brushed past her and marched up to Harry.

Harry frowned. Hermione's behavior was a bit… _off_ , around his mother, and he had absolutely no idea why. They hadn't really spoken much in the past, but Hermione had met Lily a few times during the summer between their second and third years.

His thoughts were interrupted as he felt a hand squeeze his right bicep and practically steer him to a seat in the balcony. He looked up, startled and then relaxed as he saw that it was Lily.

Lily plopped down beside him, and a disturbingly flustered Hermione sat down on his other side. Ron, still munching on his chocolate, sat on Hermione's other side.

Harry surreptitiously looked around the balcony as he searched for Narcissa. She had promised to meet him – hell, she had even told him she had a seat in the balcony somewhere close to where he would be sitting.

"Harry?" Lily asked, and he turned to face her with a frown, "Looking for someone?"

"Uh…" he stuttered, "I…"

"Dad and my brothers should be coming along any moment now," Ron said, craning his neck as well. Harry silently thanked Ron for giving him an out.

"You aren't a Weasley if you aren't late," came Sirius' voice from his mother's other side, "That's practically their family motto."

"Oi!" Ron said, trying to look around Hermione, Harry and Lily at a chortling Sirius.

"Still better than _Toujours Pur_ ," Lily retorted on Ron's behalf. Hermione giggled.

"I was actually wondering about that," Sirius said leaning to face them and taking the joke in stride, "I'm pretty sure I can change that motto now that I'm the last of the Blacks and all that."

"Mmm hmm," Lily said, and then frowned as she saw Harry looking around again, not even paying attention to the conversation.

"No, _really_!" Sirius said, "I was just about to ask you for suggestions."

" _Toujours vicelard_ ," Lily said grumpily as she frowned at Harry's lack of attention. Hermione burst into laughter and Lily smiled at the girl.

"That… actually sounds nice," Sirius said, "I like the sound of _vicelard_. I feel like a _vicelard_. Sounds glorious. Like a viceroy… or something."

"Well," Hermione said, " _I_ think the name fits."

"Wait a minute," Sirius said, frowning at Lily and Hermione, who were both smiling deviously, "You guys are pulling my leg, aren't you? That means something weird, doesn't it?"

"Sirius," Lily sighed, "Your family motto is in _French_. Don't tell me you don't even _know_ the language your family motto is _in_."

"Bah," Sirius said, "I'm _English_ , Lily. A true Englishman _never_ learns French."

"It's a romantic language, Sirius," Harry said, finally joining the conversation, "Or… uh… so they tell me."

Harry looked like he regretted saying the words as soon as they left his mouth.

" _Romantic_ language, eh?" Sirius said, mimicking Harry's tone and raising both of his eyebrows at Harry, "Or so _they_ tell me. Are we sure it's a _they_ , Harry? Or is it a _she_? Or is there more than one _she_ who told you all about how French is _romantic_?"

Lily huffed, crossed her arms and leaned back in her seat.

Hermione, completely confused, leaned beyond Harry and looked curiously at Sirius. "Right," she said, "It _really_ looks like I'm missing out on something important here."

"Ignore him," Harry said wearily, "He's just being a dogfather."

"Ha!" Sirius said triumphantly, and then turned to Lily. "See?" he asked, "Even Harry thinks the term is funny."

Lily merely glared at Harry and he shifted uncomfortably. He knew his mother wasn't usually impressed by Sirius' odd jokes and invented terms, but the glare she was giving him seemed to extend beyond his use of a word Sirius favored.

"Black," a smooth, cold voice interrupted their conversation, "Your terms are _never_ as… inventive… as you think they are."

Both Lily and Sirius stiffened at the voice. And so did Harry, Ron and Hermione. He had heard it before, especially during his second, eventful year. He turned around in his seat and glared at the sneering, pale face of Lucius Malfoy.

Lily rose up from her seat along with Sirius and nodded stiffly at the man.

Lucius bowed to Lily, much to Harry's surprise. "I'm not sure how I should address you," he said, his voice _almost_ apologetic, "Is it Mrs. Potter? Or is it Ms. Potter? I was never… ah, acquainted… with muggle protocol."

"Ms. Potter will do," Lily said coldly.

"Of course," Lucius said and then pointed behind him to reveal a younger version of himself.

This time, Harry, Ron and Hermione stood up stiffly, refusing to be caught off guard from behind.

"Malfoy," Harry said, trying to imitate his mother's cold tone, and failing as his voice came out in a snarl.

"Potter, Weasel," Draco said with a sneer, not even bothering to address Hermione, "Guess they were selling the tickets cheap, eh Ronniekins?"

Harry could already see Ron's ears turning red.

"Draco," Lucius said with a mocking lilt to his voice, " _Please_. The powerful must also be _humble_. And generous to the more… destitute. _Behave_. And say hello to your future Potions Professor."

Harry grit his teeth as Draco sneered at them one last time and then bowed to greet his mother.

"Professor Potter," he said stiffly. A tiny, petty part of Harry was overjoyed at seeing Draco greet a muggleborn in such a respectful manner. But then again, his mother _was_ considered a hero – it would be unseemly to be less than gracious towards her in front of an audience, even if the balcony hadn't filled up to capacity yet.

"Mr. Malfoy," Lily said in a neutral voice, inclining her head at the boy.

"And I believe you two are acquainted with each other from a long time ago, Ms. Potter," Lucius said, turning to indicate a woman descending the steps to the front of the balcony behind him.

"Lily," said a voice that had haunted Harry's most pleasant dreams for the past few weeks.

"Narcissa _Malfoy_ ," Lily spat at the woman Lucius had introduced.

Harry's head snapped to where Lucius was pointing and his jaw grew slack as he saw none other than… _Narcissa_ descending the steps. Narcissa _Malfoy_.

Harry did not notice the entrance of Cornelius Fudge. He did not even notice the rest of the Weasleys enter the balcony. Nor did he notice Sirius' taunting remarks to Lucius, who was sitting right behind them. He barely even noticed the Bulgarian Minister of Magic coming over and trying to flirt clumsily with Lily. And not even Draco's occasional cutting, not-so-subtle remarks to his father about the Golden Trio could rouse him from his stupor.

But he _did_ hear her voice, and his mother's, sniping at each other with cleverly masked insults.

Harry looked _straight_ ahead, at the stadium at that sprawled beneath him, but everything in front was a blur. And worse, _she_ was sitting right behind him. Her little verbal skirmish with Lily had long since ceased and he could now _feel_ Narcissa's eyes on the back of his head.

His brain seemed to have frozen. Thoughts, whispers, memories coursed through him, but none of it made sense. _Nothing_ made sense.

Did _anything_ matter?

 _To be fair, an oddly calm voice whispered in his mind, she did keep her promise to meet up with you._

And then came the _rage_. He felt betrayed. She had lied to him – granted, it had been a lie of omission, but it _was_ a lie nonetheless.

Then, he felt angry at himself. For bending so easily, for caving in, for never even bothering to enquire about her past. Part of him knew that she had spun her web in a very clever fashion, luring him in with lessons and… other sorts of _lessons_ , and coyly answering his questions about her past without revealing anything about the family that she was _married_ to. He had thought it mysterious and alluring. And now, he wished he had not – he wished he had _pushed_ her on her past.

She was _married_.

His fist curled and Harry breathed heavily as the world passed him by, tinged with red in a blurry haze.

She was _fucking_ married.

 _Had he even bothered to check for a ring?_

And that was the worst part – he had simply assumed that she was in her early twenties. And she _did_ look like she was in her early twenties. He _still_ couldn't believe that she was older than he had imagined, and that she was _married_. But there she was, sitting behind him between her husband – Lucius _fucking_ Malfoy – and her son – _Draco_.

Holy _fuck_.

Harry tried to breathe, to calm himself down, but memory upon memory washed over him. The caresses, the kisses, the duels and the spells. Her voice in his ear, alluring and enchanting, and her beautiful face, smiling ever so slyly as she brought him to sweet release.

 _Had it all been an act? If so, what was the end game? Wouldn't this reflect badly on her?_

A thousand different questions rushed through his head, tearing him up inside. Guilt came after the rage, but the rage was too all-encompassing for him to even register the guilt of betraying a moral code he had set for himself.

A voice called out, as if from a great distance. A voice that was so familiar, but a voice that he ignored, overwhelmed by his own thoughts.

 _She was married. To Malfoy. Draco's mother. Fucking hell._

The distant became more insistent, stoking his anger, fanning the flames…

"Harry!" a furious voice burst through his haze, startling him and the world seemed to snap into focus as he was jolted from his stupor.

He turned around, bewildered, only to look into the warm, brown eyes of Hermione Granger.

"Harry," she asked in a low voice, "Are you… alright?"

Harry worked his mouth ever so slowly, but his brain had still not caught up with him. Words, gestures, _crushes_ … all _meaningless_.

He looked away from Hermione, his face completely blank, only to land upon a very flustered Lily Potter trying to ignore an amorous Bulgarian Minister of Magic, who was _still_ trying to make conversation with her.

"Minister," Harry said coldly, even as his hands trembled with all the pent-up rage, "My mother is _very_ tired and came here to relax with her family. Please, go back to your seat. I'm sure Minister Fudge has a lot of important matters to discuss with you."

The Bulgarin grew stiff at Harry's words, but then his eyes looked into Harry's cold, green orbs and he gulped. And then retreated.

Lily flashed a smile at Harry and winked.

Harry turned away, his rage not even _close_ to being exhausted.

 _Why? Why would she do that? Why would Narcissa do that to me?_

"Lily," Narcissa greeted the red-haired woman.

"Narcissa _Malfoy_ ," Lily spat at her.

And that was when she noticed a movement to Lily's right.

 _Harry_.

Narcissa took a calming, steady breath as she saw his eyes widen in horror, a thousand different emotions playing out on his face. He looked frantically between her and Lucius, trying to comprehend _what_ was happening, and possibly _why_ it was happening.

Narcissa knew that she could not have kept her family name a secret forever. That someday, it _would_ be revealed to him. And she knew it would likely be revealed to him during the Quidditch Final. And she _did_ have a plan for when that happened.

But a part of her could not help but feel a bit sad as the boy's wide-eyed, innocent view of the world shattered in an instant. She knew _something_ inside of him – something rare and pure and strong, would _change_. While she doubted he'd turn into a psychopath, she _knew_ that his _trust_ in the innate goodness of the people around him _would_ shatter, and that he would feel vulnerable and alone in a single fleeting moment.

For the first time in her life, Narcissa felt _regret_ over what _her_ actions had wrought upon another.

But she quickly composed herself and turned back to Lily, avoiding Harry's stare, which was quickly turning into a hurtful glare.

"Congratulations on your Potions… Professorship, Lily," she said in a cool voice, "I'm glad our little Slug Club rivalry and all the broken cauldrons turned out well for you."

"And congratulations on your… _marriage_ , Narcissa," Lily said, just as coldly. And then the redhead raised an eyebrow. "I'm sorry, I'm not aware of any of your _other_ accomplishments, 'Cissa. _Are_ there any other accomplishments you have to your name, apart from marrying rich?"

Narcissa heard Sirius snort to Lily's left.

"Sirius," Narcissa said, her voice turning deceptively warm in an instant, "I _would_ say it's good to see you, but frankly, I'd rather ask after Kreacher's well-being."

"'Cissy, my dear old cousin!" Sirius said, his voice disturbingly happy, "Thanks for asking! I'll be sure to let the elf know you asked just before I mount his head on a pike."

"Oh hush, Sirius," Lily chided, her voice taking on a mocking lilt, "Let's not make her _too_ mad. It'll distract her from being a perfect trophy wife for her husband."

Narcissa's jaw tightened as she was outflanked in this battle of words. She eyed her husband and her son, but they seemed to be oblivious. Draco was busy trading remarks with the youngest Weasley boy and Granger, and her husband had moved away to greet Fudge, who had just entered the balcony.

"I'd love to continue this conversation, Lily," Narcissa said, "But I'm afraid I'll distract you from an opportunity to snag yet another powerful pureblood with your… wiles."

Lily opened her mouth to respond to the obvious barb at her previous marriage, but the Bulgarian Minister of Magic, who was eyeing Lily ever since he had entered their booth, seemed to have worked up the courage to introduce himself to the famous widow.

Narcissa smirked as the man tried to say something charming to Lily and failed miserably, mostly due to his poor grasp of the language he was trying to woo the woman with. She took the seat right behind Harry, watching in amusement as Lily was reduced to giving Narcissa the occasional glare as she tried to fend off the Bulgarian minister. Sirius, much to her amusement, looked like he wanted to interfere, but then shrugged and walked away, possibly to get refreshments before the final started.

 _Good, Narcissa thought, at least he knows when to let a woman fight her own damn battles._

Narcissa then glanced at the back of Harry's head, sighing internally at his reaction. And then she felt a bit annoyed at herself for feeling sad. He was staring stiffly ahead, and she wished she could see his soul-piercing green eyes so that she could know what he was thinking. She noticed the Granger girl nudge him in a concerned fashion and ask him if he was alright, but Harry merely looked away in his mother's direction.

And then, Narcissa felt a familiar sensation crawl over her skin. His magic. He was _angry_. For a moment, she thought it was because he had just noticed the fact that his mother seemed to be fending off amorous advances from a stranger, but then she realized he had barely even registered the conversation Lily was having - his anger was actually directed at _her_. She noticed the tremble in his hands and the distant stare in his eyes as he turned his face sideways and Narcissa felt his magic hanging in the air, like a heavy weight that stifled the air around him.

He then proceeded to _intimidate_ the Minister away. Narcissa had never seen this side of him before – the angry, assertive, downright _scary_ side.

And it turned her _on_.

A wave of desire swept through her as his magic seemed to retreat back into him. Lily tried to smile at Harry, but he resolutely turned away and stared into the distance again.

Narcissa leaned forward. "Draco," she called out, "I'm heading up to the restroom."

Her son looked startled at her addressing him, but nodded. She smiled at him and tousled his hair affectionately as she moved away from her chair.

And just as she ascended the flight of stairs leading out from the balcony, she saw Harry move out of the corner of her eye, murmuring something to Granger.

Narcissa smiled. He had taken the bait.

"A nest of _vipers_ , that family," Lily huffed as she glared behind her at Narcissa, but Harry paid her no mind.

He realized that he was suddenly aware of _every_ movement she made behind his back, despite the fact that he wanted to ignore her. He _wanted_ to focus on what was in front of him, but he barely paid attention to the ongoing commentary, indicating that the game was about to begin. Logically, he _knew_ that what he was watching was the opportunity of a lifetime – a Quidditch World Cup final. But he could barely bring himself to _care_.

He sensed Narcissa bending forward behind him and tensed. And then her voice cut right through the noise. "Draco," she said, and he suppressed a shiver of disgust at the fact that she was _Draco's_ mother, "I'm heading up to the restroom."

And then he heard the click of her heels as she walked away. He snapped his head around and looked past Draco, who was too busy staring at some woman in the back row anyway. He saw Narcissa heading up the balcony.

He got up automatically. "Harry?" Hermione asked him, puzzled.

Harry groaned internally. For once, he could make do _without_ Hermione watching him like an over-protective friend. He looked around and sighed as he saw that his mother was watching him suspiciously as well.

Much to his relief and annoyance though, Ron pointed to somewhere right below the balcony and said, "Hey Harry! Over there!"

Harry watched Narcissa walk up with a frustrated glance and then tore his glance away from the sway of her hips to look at where Ron was pointing. Right beneath the balcony, at least twenty feet away and forty feet below them, in the common seating area, was Cho Chang.

Ron had inadvertently given him an opening. "Ron… never mind," he said and grinned weakly at Lily. "I… uh… I'll just be a while," he finished, and hurried to follow Narcissa.

He pushed past a house elf, of all the beings in the world that would be in a box for the Quidditch World Cup, but he paid it no mind. He pushed past several dignitaries as well, barely keeping up with Narcissa's brisk pace. Despite himself, he admired the manner in which she effortlessly parted crowds for passage, while he had to barrel his way past them – though he supposed being an uncommonly beautiful woman would give one that sort of ability.

And then, just when he thought he could corner her near the restrooms, which were on their right, Narcissa took a _left_ and headed further up.

Harry cursed and hurried to catch up with her, despite a rune-activated perimeter alarm that told him he was walking into a _service area_.

And then came a dizzying flight of steps that Harry ascended with ease, thanks to the regular jogging that he had taken up.

Before he knew it, he had burst out onto a flat, open area with nary a crowd in sight. He could still hear the roar of the crowds below him and the obnoxious sounds of various announcements, but he could also hear the roar of the wind now, and feel it blowing against his face. He realized he was right on top of the enclosure that housed the stadium, on some sort of service platform or terrace.

Narcissa had _intended_ for him to follow her.

Harry walked warily up to Narcissa, who was standing with her back to him, right at the edge of the terrace. He glanced ahead and saw a massive shimmering barrier that flickered in and out seemingly anchored to the space between the audience and the Quidditch pitch. The barrier seemed to flow all around the circular stadium, separating the audience from the crowds, though it only appeared to be translucent far above the crowds, so as not to impede their view of the match.

"It's called a Quidditch shield," Narcissa said neutrally and Harry turned to face her, "It protects us – the audience - from stray bludgers and the like. Most Quidditch stadiums – the good ones anyway – have these set up before a match."

Harry didn't particularly care to learn about _any_ aspect of magic at the moment. It reminded him of her lessons – lessons that he had joyfully, and _obliviously_ in hindsight, partook in.

"Why?" he asked and he noticed Narcissa flinch at the hurt in his voice.

She turned to face him, her blue eyes looking into his green, unflinching, but she said nothing. The crowd continued to roar below them. For all Harry knew, the match had already started. And strangely, he _still_ could not bring himself to care.

"I mean… what was all this?" Harry asked, spreading his arms out, "I'm… I don't… was it just a random fling? Was it… calculated? Was this because I don't get along with your son?"

Narcissa's eyes narrowed and glimmered with irritation. "This has _nothing_ to do with Draco," she said coldly, "Keep him out of this."

"Then why?!" Harry roared over the wind, "Was it just a summer thing?"

Narcissa's eyes softened and her tone grew more hesitant. "No," she said, still not breaking eye contact, "Maybe at first, it was. But now? No. I've seen far too much of you to break it off now. And for once, I'm _not_ using innuendo."

"Do you do this every summer? Or do you just hire a boy-toy?" Harry asked. And then flinched as Narcissa's eyes turned cold again.

"Is that what you think?" she asked harshly.

Harry sighed wearily. "I don't know," he said, "It's just… I don't… I'm just…"

He fumbled for words – he didn't quite know _why_ he had followed her or _what_ he wanted to do. But his rage still simmered. And in the pale light of the stars, he saw the glint of the ring on her left hand and cursed himself for not even _looking_ for it before.

"You're _married_ , for the love of god!" he roared again, "You _cheated_ on your husband! And worse, you made _me_ a part of it!"

Narcissa still looked defiant. "Lucius hasn't touched me since our wedding day, Harry," she said, her voice taking on a mocking lilt that he could tell was directed at her husband rather than at him, "And _that_ was only because he had to."

Harry shook his head in a disbelieving manner. "You're _lying_ ," he said, "There's no way he could resist _you_."

And he half-regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. He _really_ needed a filter between his brain and his tongue, especially when he was angry.

Narcissa's eyes twinkled and she smiled. "Oh, Harry," she said, her voice taking on that familiar, low purr that he knew he would be hard-pressed to resist, "Is that flattery I hear? In the middle of a heated argument, no less?"

"I didn't mean it that way," he said quickly as she closed the distance between them, her eyes growing more predatory with each step, "No, I don't… this isn't…"

He backed away frantically as she closed in until he collided with a buttress he didn't even know was there.

"Careful now," Narcissa said, a foot away from him, her hand touching his chest gently, "We wouldn't want you falling over the _edge_ now, would we? Especially now that we're about to… make up."

"We're _not_ making up," Harry said, his rage chipping away at his desire.

Narcissa's face was inches away from his own now, and he felt the soft swell of her breasts against his chest. And much to his own surprise, he noticed that his rebellious right hand had already curved around her waist, pulling her closer.

"Are you angry, Harry?" she breathed, sounding childlike and innocent.

"Of course I am," Harry snapped, and then noticed that her beautiful face was closing the distance. "No _way_ ," Harry said, even if it was just to remind himself, "No _way_. No, no…"

"Good," Narcissa whispered, and Harry felt her familiar lilac scent waft up his nostrils again, charging his senses with _desire_ , which clashed with his anger.

"Focus, Harry," Narcissa said, "Channel the rage."

Her lips were practically on his own now.

"I'm not going to cast a spell, Narcissa," Harry whispered.

"I wasn't thinking of channeling your rage into a _spell_ , Harry," she shot back, and kissed him.

Harry angrily raised his arms and seized her by the shoulders intending to pull her off him. But for some reason, he couldn't push her away. Not while her lips were so kissable and delicious and…

" _No_ ," he whispered furiously as he pivoted on the spot and pinned _her_ against the wall. And then _he_ closed in and kissed her.

' _What the hell are you doing?'_ his mind screamed at him. Harry had no idea.

Their lips melded together, albeit with a bit of clumsiness that was more than compensated by passion and both moaned as their bodies pressed up against each other and their arms wandered all over the place. Harry noted that they were of similar height, despite the difference in age.

Harry pulled away and snarled, "You're _not_ winning this."

"I wasn't aware we were dueling," Narcissa responded smugly, "But I guess this _could_ be called a duel of sorts."

He glared at her, but much to his surprise, she curled her legs around his, planted her feet on the floor and then straightened them abruptly, so that his knees buckled and he fell backwards, landing on his buttocks on the roof of the stadium. Narcissa simply used his body as a landing pad as she fell on top of him.

But Harry wasn't one to give up easily. He used the momentum of his fall to roll and this time, Narcissa was taken by surprise as she found herself pinned beneath his body, the entire front of his body practically glued to hers, his penis hardening right between her thighs.

"You think you can win a _muggle_ fight with me?" Harry asked, "Narcissa, I've been at the end of all sorts of tackles since I learned to _walk_."

"That's enlightening," she said calmly, in spite of her prone position below him. She looked _amazing_ , her blonde hair askew and face flushed as she stared up at him hungrily, anticipating his next move. Harry pushed against her and kissed her again, this time entwining his _tongue_ with hers as they both muffled each other's moans. Harry noted how rare this sort of kiss was – usually, the only time she kissed him was when she was jerking him off as part of her _lessons_.

He drew away and smirked at her triumphantly. His expression cleared as soon as he noticed Narcissa smirk right back.

"I _never_ play fair," she said mildly and Harry felt a light poke in the side of his abdomen before he floated into the air, his body frozen. Narcissa had used her wand. He still managed to glare at her, but before he knew it, she had turned him around and placed him on his back on the ground. Stone cuffs erupted from the Earth and bound him around his fist and ankles. Narcissa then let his body fall out of her magical bind.

Harry struggled to free himself, but the cuffs held him in place.

Narcissa then curled her fist and pushed upwards; the tip of her wand glimmered with magic. Harry felt a ramp rise up underneath his upper body, pushing him up so that he was actually seated at an angle. She then pointed her wand at the entrance leading onto the roof and cast a few security wards and charms that would, at the very least, alert her or Harry if someone was coming up the stairs they had just taken.

The blonde made a disapproving sound. "Tsk," she said, "I thought I taught you better than that, love. _Always_ check the enemy for weapons before you think they're down and out for the count."

"You're just saying that because you wanted me to feel you up more," Harry shot back.

Narcissa smiled. "Maybe I did," she said softly as she advanced upon him, "But I'm glad you didn't check me for a wand, because I'm going to do something I've wanted to do since we first started… seeing… each other."

Narcissa dropped her robes, to reveal a very form-flattering corset underneath, along with leggings and lacy undergarments. Harry couldn't help but notice how snugly her breasts seemed to squeeze together inside her corset, giving him a very generous view of her deep cleavage. And then his eyes trailed down her curvy hips to…

Harry's mouth went dry at the sight. Narcissa wasn't wearing panties. Or she might have been wearing panties… just, not anymore.

Dimly, he registered that this was the first time he had ever seen a woman's… privates in real life, at least outside of the magazines Dean and Seamus loved to sneak into their dorm.

Nestled between Narcissa's milky white thighs were a puffy, _tight_ pair of outer lips that gently hugged a very narrow slit. And before he even realized it, she was right over his head, giving him a _very_ nice view of it. It was completely hairless and blended seamlessly with the rest of her body. Narcissa trailed her right hand down her corset and then fingered the outer lips, teasing them apart so that Harry could see the _inner_ labia, red and _beautiful_ like the petals of an exotic flower, still tightly closed over a tiny slit, with a nub at the end.

A part of him thanked Dean for talking at length about the wonders of a vagina every time the opportunity arose – he _knew_ what he was looking at, though he did not know if he could entirely trust Dean's ' _techniques_ ' that he just borrowed wholesale from descriptions in pornographic magazines.

Nonetheless, he'd be damned if he did not at least _try_.

Ever so slowly, Narcissa lowered herself onto his closed lips.

"Still angry, Harry?" she asked.

He opened his mouth with a snarky retort on his lips, but she had timed her query perfectly. Just as his lips parted, her core came crashing down and his head was right between her thighs.

Harry automatically reverted to kissing. He sucked, _hard_ , and then praying that it would work, plunged his tongue out, testing her inner lips and _searching_ for the nub. Her clitoris.

A loud moan from Narcissa, coupled with the tactile feedback from his tongue, let him know that he'd found it. What followed was a series of slurps, licks, and moaned instructions from Narcissa as she directed his tongue and lips, asking him to move a little to the left, then a little to the right, and then screaming, " _Right there_!"

Before long, she was grinding onto him as his tongue delved deeper into her impossibly tight vagina, plunging in and then struggling to pull out as her wet walls squeezed around him. Harry continued to massage her outer vagina with his lips, but he had no idea how helpful that was – all he knew is that she was getting wetter and wetter as he went along, and that was apparently a good thing, judging by her moans.

" _Oh_ …" Narcissa gasped and then looked down at his eyes peeking just beyond her thighs, "Such a _naughty_ boy. Where's your rage _now_ , Harry?"

He just screamed helplessly at her, and his tongue plundered her at an even greater frequency, wriggling and quivering.

"Yes!" Narcissa said, throwing her head back, "Looks like you've _still_ got some… _oh, yes, yes_ … fight… in… you. We'll… _oh yes Harry yes_ … have to take… _oh Sweet Morgana_ … care of that… won't we?"

 _No_ , Harry thought. He was _not_ helpless.

He would _not_ give in. He breathed, even as his tongue pulled and pushed and licked automatically, and _focused_ , as she had taught him. His rage slowly seeped away and with immense effort, his lust ebbed, taking the edge off his haze.

And that was when it struck him. _If_ what Narcissa had said was true – that she had only been with Lucius once – that meant that she had _several_ suppressed desires but few actual sexual encounters. While Harry knew she could work a crowd into frenzied lust with mere words, it also meant she had little experience with the _physical_ part of sex.

Which meant she was learning how to please him and how to _teach_ him to please _her_ as they went along. And that didn't give her much advantage on the experience front – it was one area where he _might_ be able to catch up with Narcissa if he was quick and deft enough.

"A nest of vipers…" Narcissa panted, "I… think that's what… your mother… called us."

Harry's eyes narrowed. If _Draco_ was off-limits, then his mother sure as hell was off-limits too.

Narcissa groaned as his tongue practically _writhed_ inside her wet tunnel, pushing her very, _very_ close to the edge of an orgasm.

"How… does it feel… to be helpless… underneath a… snake?" she asked, panting, and then gloated, "How would Lily… feel…"

That did it.

' _You want to compare yourself to a snake, Narcissa?' Harry thought, 'Fine. I'll treat you like one.'_

He strove to leash his emotions once more and his tongue ran on auto-pilot again, slowing down, much to Narcissa's frustration as she was brought down from her edge.

' _The thing about snakes, Narcissa, is this - all you have to do is talk to them to enslave them to your will.'_

And Harry brought the memory of facing a boa constrictor back during his childhood to the forefront of his mind.

It worked. " _Fuck you_ ," Harry hissed in Parseltongue right into Narcissa's vagina.

Narcissa shrieked as she was brought right to the edge again in a few impossibly fluid movements of Harry's tongue. Her body ground into his face harder as she pinched massaged her breasts through her corset and cried out to the heavens.

Narcissa's thoughts came to a grinding halt as she seemed to ride a _wave_ of pleasure. Harry, with his handsome face pinned beneath her, helpless and prone, had somehow gained the upper hand. His tongue wriggled at impossible speeds, and he seemed to be _hissing_ into her, _tasting_ her walls at an inhumanly fast rate.

A white haze began forming at the edges of her vision. Some small part of her mind warned her to _move_ , to get off his divine tongue before he gained the upper hand, but most of her didn't care if he _did_ win this particular skirmish, as weird as it was.

Possibly because his tongue was _amazing_.

"No!" she gasped, as his tongue seemed to actually circle her inner walls rapidly, pressing and then slithering along her circumference, and then lashing back up deliciously.

The hisses grew faster and louder and seemed to intensify the heavenly vibrations coursing up and down her inner walls. His burrowing, serpentine tongue then seemed to find a very sensitive nerve cluster in her vagina.

Narcissa stopped screaming and whimpered.

He hadn't found _a_ nerve cluster. He had found _the_ nerve cluster.

She had a chance to gasp, " _No_ ," once more before he _hissed_ again, and the haze that had begun to creep along the edges of her vision grew into a burst of white light that streamed over her eyes. Narcissa frantically planted her hands on the edge of the ramp above his head, then raised herself up and away from his demonic tongue, but it was _far_ too late. She screamed louder than she ever had in her life as her vagina _exploded_ beneath her, splattering Harry's face with juices she didn't even _know_ she had. Narcissa staggered back, her thighs trembling helplessly and her cunt spraying all over Harry's robes as she slumped to the ground in a manner reminiscent of Harry the first time _she_ had given him a handjob.

She couldn't _move_. Her body kept quivering and trembling for entire _minutes_ , every muscle apparently deciding that this was the perfect moment to break into pleasant spasms; mercifully, her spraying had ceased. It was pleasure and pain, rolled into a single agonizing sensation, and she both wanted it to _stop_ , and _never_ wanted it to end.

Eventually, after shrieking and trembling for five whole minutes that seemed to stretch into an eternity, she panted and looked at Harry, her face flushed and lips trembling.

The handsome little fool was _smirking_ at her from his seated position. _Bastard_.

And that was when it struck her.

"You cheated," she said accusingly, pointing a trembling finger at him. She was _still_ in a post-orgasmic state. "Parselmouth."

Harry merely shrugged innocently, his green eyes twinkling, and continued to smirk in a manner that she found was actually reminiscent of _Lily_.

"You… have my cum all over you," Narcissa snapped in a trembling voice. His smile merely seemed to grow wider.

And then she smirked right back as she noticed the enormous tent in his robes.

His smile vanished.

"No," he whispered, even as Narcissa lunged forward. She pushed his robes up and pulled his boxers down, his thighs still held in place by her stone cuffs. It snapped right out, like a beast sniffing the air.

"You _were_ speaking in Parseltongue after all," Narcissa said amidst a fit of giggles, "So you can't really blame this poor snake for making an appearance."

Harry looked torn between amusement and lust. And then he smiled at her.

"You know I can resist you now," he said, "I've had practice. Thanks to you, of course. You're not winning this."

"You'd like to believe that, wouldn't you?" she asked as she began tugging on his penis in smooth practiced motions. Her hands knew his large, fat trouser snake _very_ well at this point, "But like I said before, Harry… I cheat."

And right in front of his awestruck eyes, she bent over his erection on her knees and brought her lips – swollen from their furious kissing earlier – right to the tip of his spongy cockhead. And then she _kissed_ it.

Harry groaned. And Narcissa didn't stop. The kiss widened and she _plunged_ her mouth down the shaft.

That was when she realized her mistake. Despite her silver tongue – which was _very_ useful when she was swaying people by _talking_ to them – she was _not_ experienced in the art of… love. She had a very strict upbringing that was in line with pureblood conservative thinking at the time. And her only true experiences with this sort of activity were a few frustratingly bad minutes with her pathetic husband on their wedding night.

In short, she had _never_ actually given anyone a blowjob before. And she had _certainly_ not attempted to engage in oral sex with something _this_ large. She _choked_ even as she was barely a quarter of the way down Harry's humongous shaft. Much to her relief, however, she didn't _gag_ , and thus managed not to let Harry _know_ that she was having trouble.

Narcissa immediately raised herself off his cock and looked up, panting. His eyes were glazed and she smiled at him with confidence she didn't quite feel.

 _Take it slow_ , she told herself silently.

She worked more methodically this time around, massaging his fat cockhead with her lips as she trailed her tongue across his sensitive skin in slow, deliberate circles. She licked _around_ his cockhead and then millimeter by millimeter, worked her way down his shaft, giving him a thorough massage with her tongue and lips, getting used to the girth of his cock filling her mouth.

And when she felt she could take no more – a little more than a quarter of his size - she immediately drew back, letting go of his cock again. She watched it bounce, glazed with spit and looking amazingly plump and juicy. Narcissa looked at his face again. His eyes were closed shut – he _definitely_ wasn't concentrating.

 _Then again, maybe he was._

She felt it rumbling around her ominously, blowing around her like a breeze, but more surreal, distorting the air around her. He _was_ concentrating, drawing upon his magic, hemming it in and building it up so that he could unleash it with explosive force.

She laughed. "You don't really have a wand, Harry," she said, her voice filled with mirth, "Well, except for this one." She caught his penis and shook it around, watching his heavy balls bounce underneath her fist.

Harry merely grunted and the air continued to tingle around her. She double-checked to make sure her cuffs were still holding his hands and legs to the ground, but then noticed that the cuffs she had transfigured were actually _vibrating_. It was _almost_ imperceptible, but she could still see it. They were in no danger of breaking up, however.

"Harry," Narcissa said, exasperated, with her hands tugging at his penis once more, "Not even the most powerful wizard could break out of those cuffs without a wand."

She promptly speared her mouth onto his shaft, her breasts crashing down onto his thighs and her tongue licked frantically. The magic ceased, and Harry's barriers finally burst as he groaned, _loudly_ , and his penis pulsed.

Narcissa _slurped_ one last time and then drew her mouth off his enormous cock with a gasp, jerking it rapidly with her hands as it kept pulsing. And then, the little hole at the end of his mushroom head widened ever so slightly as several spurts of semen burst into the air, splattering Narcissa's hands as well as his thighs and robes.

And Narcissa kept tugging _right_ through his orgasm, pulling at his cum-splattered cock so that he would feel at least a _fraction_ of the delicious pain that she had felt earlier.

"You may have won the previous battle," Narcissa said, finally letting go and letting his cock twitch by itself, "But looks like I've won the war!"

And then, as Harry came down from his orgasm, she crawled towards the ramp, slumped beside him and relaxed, massaging her jaw that had to be stretched obscenely to accommodate his thickness. Narcissa closed her eyes, basking in the afterglow of an orgasm the likes of which she had _never_ had and drawing great pleasure in giving him an even _faster_ orgasm. While she _had_ played around with her own hands, or with toys crafted specifically for that purpose, she had never squirted like _that_.

Narcissa smiled tiredly. Anyone who tried to take Harry away from her was going to have a _very_ hard time. _Even if it was Harry himself that tried to push away_.

"Uh," Harry rasped, his voice sounding panicked, "Narcissa… shite."

She opened her eyes at his addition of an expletive to her name, intending to glare at him, but then saw that he hadn't directed it at her. He had directed it at the view right in front of them.

For in front of them, clawing and _screeching_ with long talons and cruel, curved beaks at the translucent barrier were a few _dozen_ vicious looking avian creatures, desperately trying to lunge at them.

"Oooooooh!" Ron gasped along with the crowd as the bludger barely missed one of the Irish chasers.

Hermione, however, did not quite catch the movement and gave up, exasperated. There were _way_ too many things to keep track of and she had no idea how the others enjoyed it. It felt like a chore, and the players were moving much faster than she was accustomed to at Hogwarts. She looked to her left and saw that Lily had long since given up trying to keep track of the match with Omnioculars, instead resorting to plain eyesight.

But Hermione found her attention wavering - she looked at the battle raging above, where the veela and the leprechauns seemed to be clashing against each other, with the occasional flare of magic from the wand of a Ministry worker trying to separate the two groups. Fireballs blazed against shimmering green shields all over the place. To Hermione's eye, the leprechauns were losing the battle, and _badly_ at that – while leprechauns had a bit of skill with creating showers of gold coins, that seemed to be their _only_ proper magical skill.

The magical world had never really made sense to her – while in the muggle world, traits such as defensive camouflage and offensive attacks could be explained away by the mechanics of adaptation, genetics and evolution, the magical world didn't _quite_ conform to those explanations. For what _possible_ reason could the leprechauns have evolved the ability to make gold? Did magic even depend on genes and environment in the first place?

Hermione frowned and looked over at Lily, wondering if she could ask the beautiful redhead about it. And then she wondered if Lily had ever thought about it, or researched it, being so well-versed in Magical Theory.

Half the balcony suddenly burst into shrieks causing Hermione to focus on the match again, wondering if someone had managed to snag the snitch.

But it wasn't the match that had caught the attention of everyone on the balcony. It was the battle raging above the match.

The veela had all broken off from their battle with the leprechauns and seemed to be headed _straight_ for the very balcony in which she was seated.

Hermione scrambled for her wand, but Lily reached out across Harry's empty seat and placed an arm over Hermione's, stopping her from casting spells at the veela.

"There's a shield barrier separating us from them," Lily said loudly, attempting to communicate over the screams of alarm around them, "They can't hurt us from the outside, but _we_ can from the inside. So… don't hurt the veela unless they break through the barrier."

Hermione nodded and took a deep calming breath as she held her wand out and aimed at the veela without firing. Much to her relief, the veela streamed _past_ the balcony and ascended even higher, right above the roof over their heads.

"How high does the barrier go?" Hermione asked, wondering if the veela could just hop over it.

Lily merely shrugged, tracking the veelas' ascent. After a while, she said, "Look, they've stopped."

Hermione craned her neck to peer above them and noticed that the veela had all frozen in mid-air with their wings softly flapping away as they looked at something on top of the roof. And then, with a screech, they all tried to swoop onto the roof, but a translucent barrier shimmered into visibility, stopping the veela from descending. The veela clawed away at the barrier, emitting loud screeches, but the barrier refused to yield.

Hermione took more, deep calming breaths. She looked over at Lily in awe.

"You were pretty calm there in the face of a veela horde," she ventured.

Lily smiled at her. "Live through a war, Hermione," she said warmly, "And even a horde of rampaging veela are just a walk in the park."

The veela were still flailing away at the barrier in vain for some reason known only to them. Hermione looked away from Lily. "I wonder where Harry is," she said to no one in particular as the match continued around them.

"What _are_ they?" Harry asked, completely bewildered. Narcissa noted that he was _still_ trying to wriggle out of his cuffs. She almost laughed at the sight of Harry softening penis flopping around as he tried desperately to move.

"Veela," Narcissa said, calmly walking over to where she had dropped her robes and donning them in an efficient manner. She smoothed them over, ignoring the screeching veela, and brushed her hair, tidying up her appearance. She then drew her own wand and warily looked over at the frantic creatures. "Probably mascots for the Bulgarian team," she said, after making sure that the veela weren't able to get through the shield.

"Quidditch teams have mascots?" Harry asked blankly, "And _please_ get me out of here and away from them."

Narcissa ignored him and watched the veela, wondering why they were trying to fly towards them. She noticed that they weren't even looking her way. They were trying to claw their way to something in Harry's direction.

Narcissa wondered why she hadn't heard them before. Granted, she had been pretty busy trying to calm herself down from the best orgasm she had ever had and _then_ trying to swallow the largest cock she had ever seen, but the veela were _loud_. If they had been there from the beginning of this little… tryst… then she _should_ have noticed them.

But she hadn't. Which probably meant the veela had attacked their location sometime _during_ their encounter.

And it all snapped into place as she realized with a start that the veela were actually clawing to get _at_ Harry, rather than to get at something around him.

"The magic," she gasped.

"What?" Harry asked, still maintaining eye contact with the veela.

Narcissa waved her wand at his prone form impatiently and his cuffs crumbled away. He frantically covered himself up and backed away, while simultaneously pulling his wand out of his sleeve in a smooth motion and pointing it in the direction of the veela horde.

"They won't get through the barrier," Narcissa said reassuringly, "But I think they're trying to get at _you_."

"Me?" Harry asked, bewildered, "Why?"

"They're… predators, Harry," Narcissa said as she fastened her pumps to her feet, "Their prey are _mates_. They're creatures that are apparently designed to ensnare powerful magical beings of other species. Such as humans."

Harry stared at her, and then reverted to watching the veela.

"So why aren't they trying to get to you?" he asked.

"Because I'm _female_ ," Narcissa said, "They mate with _males_. Usually, they keep to male nymphs to breed true, but sometimes, they get a taste for _other_ species. Like ours."

Harry still looked bewildered. "But why me?" he asked, "There are plenty of wizards down below. Including that desperate Bulgarian who was trying to hit on Li… my mother."

Narcissa frowned as she caught his slip, but set it aside for the moment.

"Veela are uniquely sensitive to magic, Harry," she said, "They can _sense_ it. On a level that most witches and wizards cannot even begin to imagine. Your little display attracted them, though _this_ is a mating frenzy I've never actually seen before."

"But I failed," Harry said weakly, "I didn't get out of your cuffs."

"Harry," Narcissa said exasperated, "Even Albus Dumbledore couldn't have gotten out of those cuffs."

And then Narcissa's brain caught up with what she had just said. She retched at the thought. And Harry laughed.

"Well, now we know who _else_ you're planning to…"

"Don't you _dare_ ," she warned, cutting him off before he could complete that disgusting line of thought.

She then walked towards him, seized his hand and resolutely led him away from the roof and down the staircase whence they had come.

"The Ministry workers shall shoo them away," she said, "I can't have them catching us up there."

Harry's smile vanished.

"You… I…" he stammered, horrified as his brain caught up with exactly what had transpired between them on the roof.

Narcissa slammed him into the side of the aisle and held his cheeks firmly, forcing him to look into her eyes.

"Harry," she said, and bit her lips. She didn't even know if she was putting on an act anymore. "I'm doing this because I _want_ to do this. I've been trapped in a loveless marriage that I want no part of for what seems like forever. Maybe I _did_ see you as a fling at first, but that has changed now. I… I want to see _where_ this takes us."

"But if they ever find out…" Harry said and trailed off.

Narcissa sighed. For all his power, he was still a fourteen-year-old boy. She tended to forget that.

"I'll make sure they _won't_ ," she said.

Harry stared into her eyes for a long time. And then, looking immensely vulnerable, he leaned forward and kissed her softly on the lips. Narcissa noted how different this kiss was – almost… _affectionate_ , as opposed to the frenzied, lustful, _angry_ kissing they had engaged in on the roof.

"I… don't know what to do," he said, his green eyes expressing both desire and uncertainty. Narcissa marveled, for the umpteenth time, at how expressive they were.

"Harry," she said gently and firmly, "We _will_ meet again. I _promise_. And a _Black_ always keeps her promises."

Harry's raised eyebrows indicated that he _had_ noticed the use of the Black surname, as opposed to Malfoy. He nodded and leaned in to kiss her again. Narcissa indulged him, then sighed and parted.

"We have to leave," she said, "Or else..."

"They'll be suspicious," he said. She had no idea if he was talking about _his_ friends and family or _hers_.

He let go of her hands. She gave him one last smile and walked briskly away from him, turning left at the bottom of the stairs to enter the women's restroom, leaving Harry watching her wistfully in the shadows of the narrow staircase she had just vacated. She glanced at him right as she turned the corner though, and waved.

Hermione Granger was a very perceptive girl. She knew her sharp observations _could_ be annoying when employed against a friend, so she tried to keep herself restrained when push came to shove.

Right now though, she could _tell_ she was being annoying, especially by the look on Harry's face.

Ron had told her, right after Harry had abruptly left the balcony that he was probably going to meet Cho, who was apparently Harry's girlfriend now.

And Hermione really _really_ doubted it. Which wasn't to say that she thought Cho Chang was out of Harry's league – but the girl just seemed a bit too… vacuous and emotional to sustain Harry's interest for long. And when Ron had told her about Harry's long meetings with the girl during their Quidditch camp stint, she was really confused. There was no way Harry was having long, stimulating conversations with Cho Chang, of all people. The girl _might_ be a Ravenclaw and a year above them, but Hermione had talked to her before and frankly, the girl was not even in her league.

Which probably meant Harry was having sex with Cho Chang. But she doubted that too – Cho had never really been one for celebrity and she was _known_ to be a prude, at least according to the Hogwarts grapevine.

So Hermione had watched Cho Chang talk animatedly with the blonde girl who always hung around her in the seats below the balcony. And not once had she seen Harry approach her after he had vacated his seat.

And much to her curiosity and surprise, she realized as she looked around that Lily Potter seemed to be watching Cho Chang like a hawk as well.

At first, Hermione thought it was just motherly concern, but then grew alarmed at the… animosity… that seemed to be etched on Lily's face. The beautiful redhead seemed to be _weighing_ Cho Chang with her gaze, and seemed to have decided that the petite girl was simply not worthy of her son.

Lily seemed to have noticed Hermione looking at her and promptly softened her gaze, turning to Hermione with an inquisitive brow.

"You know this Chang girl?" Lily had asked her.

Hermione wanted to blurt out that she doubted Harry was dating Chang, but she realized that this was an occasion where her observations could actually get Harry into trouble. Maybe he _was_ dating Chang, and maybe Chang and he were just talking about things, or taking long walks around the moors, or _something_.

And then, the match had begun and Harry _still_ had not returned. Sirius had been dispatched to look for him. Halfway through the match, and after the excitement the veela had generated with their sudden charge to the balcony roof, Harry had finally returned, along with Sirius, who told them all with much good humor that he'd found Harry lost on the wrong staircase.

And that set off more alarms in Hermione's mind. This wasn't Hogwarts – the stadium had a relatively simple structure and Harry certainly wasn't a dunce. He had an amazing sense of direction and he wouldn't just stand around on a staircase in the first place, hoping to be found.

It was a case of the story being plausible, but not probable.

And then she had noticed how Harry wore a faint smile on his face – a surprising about turn from his earlier stiff demeanor.

There was something Harry was not telling them. If it were Ron, Hermione would simply assume he had tried to sneak into the Quidditch lockers to get a player's autograph or something and then been thrown out. Or had perhaps tried to jump a veela only to be rebuffed.

But this wasn't Ron. This was _Harry_.

If there was something Harry was not telling them, it usually meant there was something really, _really_ wrong going on. The boy was practically a trouble magnet.

And to make things worse, Harry had suddenly retreated into what she called his 'stoic mode'. He was giving her laconic answers to every question. When prompted to divulge if he had just been with Cho, he mumbled something lame about trying to find his way down and failing, going with the opening Sirius had granted him.

That did it for her.

Hermione was going to keep a very, _very_ close eye on Harry Potter during the upcoming year – there was only a week of vacation left to go, anyway. He might have a mother now, but Lily hadn't known him long enough to know there was something _very_ fishy going on with the Boy-Who-Lived.


	6. Dinners, Rhymes and Fatal Attractions

Dinners, Rhymes and Fatal Attractions

 _Sound and fury. Wooden panels chipping away with the force of the storm. Panels that float away into the ether, dissolving violently into sawdust and fire._

 _And she's paralyzed. She cannot move. Frozen for an eternity. She tries to speak, but she has no tongue. She tries to move, but she is bound in place by an immovable force._

 _But she needs to move. She needs to speak. She needs her magic… she can feel it leaving her, abandoning her, floating away like the wooden panels of her bedroom walls._

 _A skeletal face snarls at her and she screams wordlessly – but the face cannot hear her screams._

" _Lily!" a voice screams._

 _Harry! She tries to scream back, but her body remains frozen in horror, unable to move, unable to power through her petrifaction._

 _Golden threads intertwine around her, their weight overwhelming and their movements unstoppable. They whisper to her – she cannot make out the words, but she can see the after-images the words impress upon her very mind… her soul. Destiny. Power. Corruption. A thousand words they whisper in her mind, and yet, she cannot act upon them. She is helpless, trapped by fate and magic, yearning to save her son._

" _Lily!" Harry screams again, "Mother!"_

 _The golden threads – which have now coalesced into a golden rope – reach out towards her, coil around her core and then whip out. A red spray bursts from her chest – but it is not blood. It is… something else. Something deeper. More powerful. More draining. The spray liquefies and settles on the golden ropes. The ropes then move behind her, towards… Harry._

 _The whispers grow stronger. The threads are alive now. The skeletal face looms ever closer. But that blood-red haze – her love – has changed. Morphed. Mutated. Into something darker. And more intoxicating. More dangerous._

 _A flash of green light._

" _MOTHER!" he screams, but she feels nothing. She is not his mother. Not anymore. She wants more than that. So much more._

" _MOTHER! MOM! MUM! MUM! MUM?"_

" _Ma'am?"_

"Ma'am?"

Lily woke up with a start from her desk and sat upright in her chair, only to be greeted with the sight of Harry Potter.

A very abashed looking Harry Potter.

"Uh," he said uneasily, "Sorry. I didn't know you were asleep."

Lily rubbed the back of her neck and smiled at Harry.

"That's… alright," she said, her dream still vivid in her mind, "Were… were you screaming just now?"

Harry looked confused. "I might have been a bit loud," he said after a pause, "But… I don't really think I was screaming."

"Wait," Lily said, finally registering _what_ Harry had called her, "Did you just call me… 'Ma'am'? _Again_?"

Harry shifted from foot to foot and studiously avoided her gaze.

"I…," he said, desperately fishing for a different topic, "Uh… lunch just arrived. I already paid the delivery guy. Here."

Lily smiled as Harry handed her the packed lunch she had ordered. "I see," she said brusquely, still trying to get over the disturbing dream, "Well, I'm _starving_. So, want to join me?"

Harry gave her another abashed look. "I've already eaten," he said.

He then paused for another moment, looking at Lily with concern. Lily knew she probably made for a very weird sight – her fiery hair was all over the place and she was probably flushed from the dream. Harry looked as if he wanted to say something, and Lily raised her eyebrow, as if in warning.

So he shrugged to himself and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Immediately after Harry had left, Lily cast a silencing charm at the door and cursed as loudly as possible.

 _Dammit, Lily, she thought, you need to get closer to him, not push him away._

Narcissa was not accustomed to compartmentalizing her emotions. Especially emotions such as guilt.

Which was not to say that she wore her emotions on her sleeve; it was just that before her marriage to Lucius, she had always taken pride in being a calm and quietly confident sort of girl. And after her marriage to Lucius, she had never had much opportunity to feel _any_ emotion, except during her interactions with her beloved son.

"Draco," Narcissa said sternly, "You _need_ to continue your dueling lessons. If you refuse to train under a tutor, you can train with _me_."

"Oh, please, mother," Draco scoffed, "I do not think there is much that is left to teach, or much for me to _learn_ , especially from Mister Oxley."

"Mister Oxley is a fine teacher," Narcissa snapped. Recently, she had found herself getting annoyed by Draco's habitual arrogance more often. Granted, she _loved_ her son with all her heart, but sometimes, she thought they'd spoiled him too much. "And he has a _lot_ to teach you, but he cannot do so if you keep canceling your lessons!"

Draco looked annoyed at her rebuke. "Mother," he said in an exasperated voice, "His last lesson was on the _Levitation Charm_. Who _cares_ about a levitation charm? It's stuff I _mastered_ in my first year at Hogwarts!"

"Clearly not," Narcissa said, "He was trying to teach you the basics of how to go about modifying spells. The levitation charm need not be performed in so constrained a manner. Charms can be _tweaked_ by will. By controlling the power you force through your wand, you can control the _rate_ at which you harness the magical _nexus_ around you, and thus affect factors such as the _speed_ of levitation, or the _direction_ …"

Narcissa stopped as she realized that Draco had already zoned out.

"Draco," Narcissa pleaded, "Please. For me. Just continue your lessons with Mister Oxley."

Draco looked even more annoyed now.

"Father says such skills are passé, mother," Draco said in a snide voice, "He says only the crass and foolish resort to such vulgar activities as dueling to achieve their objectives. _He_ says that it is manipulation and politics where a _real_ man makes his mark."

"You're twisting your father's words out of context and you _know_ it," Narcissa said, trying not to grit her teeth at the mention of her 'husband.' "Your father is accomplished in the art of dueling himself. Strength and confidence come from _within_ , Draco. Powerful wizards and witches make for _powerful_ politicians because they _know_ they can back their manipulations with _force_ if push comes to shove."

"I'm _not_ learning the levitation charm again, mother," Draco said with an air of finality, "I'd rather learn _real_ magic with Professor Yordanova."

"While I admit that Yordanova is highly knowledgeable in the field of advanced magic," Narcissa said in what she hoped was a placating voice, "Advanced magic, Draco, is hard to master without _control_. And Professor Yordanova is a _theorist_. She can wield spells in an impressive manner, but what use are spells if all they do is dazzle?"

Narcissa knew she was purposely skirting around the _real_ reason Draco was so interested in Professor Yordanova.

"Yes, but she knows her stuff, and she knows the _true_ power of magic, mother," Draco said in an excited voice, " _Dark_ magic."

"Oh, please," Narcissa said, resisting the urge to palm her face, " _I_ probably know more so-called 'Dark Magic' then she does."

"I'm _not_ going for one more stupid dueling lesson," Draco said, "And that's the _end_ of the discussion. I want more lessons with Professor Yordanova."

"More lessons with the attractive female teacher, over an older male teacher," Narcissa said, exasperated with her son's stubbornness, "Why did I not see that coming?"

Draco spluttered. "I… do not find… attractive… _please_."

And with a swish of his robes, Draco left her quarters at a brisk pace.

Narcissa palmed her face.

And then she was annoyed with herself for getting annoyed at the whole situation.

It was only natural for Draco to want to spice up his life and get out of taxing lessons on the dueling arts. He was, after all, a teenage boy. And Narcissa had been comfortable with his behavior before. So why was she getting annoyed now?

 _You know why that is_ , a part of her – a depressingly truthful part of her – whispered.

 _Go away_ , the rest of her thought.

 _Harry_ , the truthful part said.

 _Oh shut up._

But Narcissa knew it was true. Harry's diligence, his tenacity, his determination to power through whatever she threw at him and emerge at the other end in shining form, having mastered whatever she had taught him – it had all impressed her. And charmed her. And more.

Her own son wasn't measuring up to Harry's ability to wield magic. That was an alarming thought.

But more alarming was the fact that Harry's face kept popping up more and more often in her previously dull and monotone life. Time she would usually spend shopping, or spoiling her son, was consumed by thoughts of her teenage lover.

And try as she might to brush thoughts of Harry aside, memories of that magical experience during the Quidditch final flooded her brain every so often and pushed the annoyingly handsome boy-hero to the forefront of her mind again.

Narcissa buried her face in her palms.

 _This is ludicrous, she thought._

"Come in," Lily said as she heard a soft knock on her door.

Harry's head peeked in through the door.

"Have you finished lunch?" he asked hesitantly, "May I speak to you?"

"Harry, please," Lily said with a sigh, "For the love of all that is good and holy, you don't have to be so _formal_."

Harry looked slightly alarmed.

 _Dammit, Lily, she thought to herself, You're coming on too strong. Dial it back down._

"And you don't have to knock either," Lily added.

And she winced as she realized what she had just said.

 _Dammit, she thought again, dial it back down, not dial it up. Might as well invite him to bed now, you idiot._

"Okay," Harry said very slowly, still peeking past the door, "Uh… so, you're free to talk."

Lily did not trust herself to speak, so she nodded mutely.

"Oh," Harry said and entered her room. He then paused as he looked at her desk, which was swamped with parchments and texts.

"Just drawing up a syllabus for the NEWT-level students," Lily said, gesturing to the mess, "I keep revising the damn thing – I don't want to treat advanced students like children."

"Is Professor Slughorn's syllabus not good enough or something?" Harry asked.

"Oh no," Lily said, "But I don't really have Horace's… flair… for social interaction. It's okay if _he_ walks into a class and starts things off with a joke and an improper comment or two. But if _I_ do it, it'll look really, _really_ weird. And there's also the fact that Horace is a practiced hand at this sort of thing – he's been a Potions Professor for ages! The students trusted him, they…"

"You'll do _fine_ ," Harry said in a firm voice, interrupting her rant, "In fact, I'm pretty sure you'll do _great_. Remus told me Professor McGonagall was _really_ impressed with your presentation and ideas for class."

Despite herself, Lily beamed. "Minerva is too kind," she said graciously.

"Not in my experience," Harry said lightly.

"So," Lily asked, casually leaning on the desk, "You interested in taking Potions lessons with me over the next week? Just to test things out?"

Harry looked nonplussed.

Lily laughed. "I'm kidding, Harry," she said, "I'd hardly think you'd want to take classes during a school vacation of all things."

"Actually," Harry said quietly, "If you want to test out your teaching skills, I'd be happy to take a few classes with you. I'll even call Hermione over – that way, you'll be prepared for all _sorts_ of questions during class."

Lily smiled. "I think I'm going to take you up on that offer, Harry," she said.

"There's only a week left though," Harry said.

"You sure Hermione won't be annoyed?" Lily asked.

Harry's lips quirked into a smile. "Starting school before school officially starts? Hermione's going to be over the _moon_."

Lily giggled.

"So," she said at last, "You came all the way up here to volunteer for summer classes?"

"Oh, right," Harry said, his hesitant tone returning, "That. Yes."

Lily arched an eyebrow as she glanced at a seemingly flustered Harry. She thought he looked absolutely adorable when he was confused.

"Er," Harry said, "I… uh… I was wondering if…"

"Harry?" Lily asked as he trailed off.

"I'mtiredofeatingout," Harry burst out.

"I… what?" Lily asked, completely confused.

Harry blushed. "I'm… er… to be honest, I'm a bit… I mean… the food is great… but I was wondering if we could… er… eat in today," he said.

"We always eat in," Lily said, still confused at the direction of the conversation.

"Yes, but we order _out_ ," Harry said softly.

"Oh," Lily said. And then after a pause, she finally got the gist of the conversation. " _Oh!_ Right. Eat in. Like… a home-cooked meal."

Harry smiled.

Lily flushed. If she was entirely honest with herself, she _was_ sick of eating out. In Godric's Hollow, James had an old house elf – Nappy – who had cooked for them. The poor elf had died a week before the dreadful night when she had nearly lost everything. After that point, James and Lily had done what they could with the meager culinary skills they did possess, but there hadn't been much opportunity to fuss over food under the Fidelius.

"Yes," Lily said, "Uh… I'll get out my cookbook… and try and whip something up… I just… Harry, I'm not very good at that sort of thing."

It was Harry's turn to look confused. "I don't…" he said, "Wait. No, oh no! That's not what I meant at all! No, no, _I'll_ cook."

Lily froze. "What?" she asked, "You cook?"

"Yeah," Harry said with a shrug.

"Are you sure?" Lily asked. After all, neither she nor James were exactly what one would call a great chef. Or a standard chef. Or even a sub-standard one.

"Yes," Harry said. He then paused and continued in a modest tone, "Well, I'm not exactly what you'd call an amazing cook, but I _can_ cook. I mean… we can still order out if you want…"

"No!" Lily said quickly, "We… well, _you_ can cook. Do I need to go get supplies?"

Harry eyed the mountain of parchment on her desk.

"Not really," he said, "I can go get those myself from the Sainsbury's around the corner."

Lily was grateful. "Sure," she said and gestured to the shelf beside her bed, "There's money in the top drawer over there."

Lily then paused to watch Harry head up to the shelf and bend over to sift through the muggle currency in there. Mostly because she enjoyed the sight of his tight backside.

 _Stop it, Lily, too strong. Too strong._

 _Shut up._

Harry turned around and Lily schooled her facial expression to resemble something that did not scream 'horny schoolgirl'.

"Forty quid," Harry said, "Just in case."

Lily nodded.

Harry smiled and left her room.

Lily silenced the door again and groaned.

 _This is getting ridiculous, she thought. Again._

Harry hummed a tuneless song to himself as he waited for the watercress to wilt in the skillet in front of him. He glanced at the patties broiling away in the oven and then shrugged as he noticed they hadn't quite cooked through.

He marveled at the nature of the artefacts the wizarding world possessed. The Salisbury steaks he was preparing would have taken at least thirty minutes to cook in the electrical oven that Aunt Petunia had used in the Dursley household. And in his mother's magical, rune-activated oven, the steaks were cooking wonderfully within a span of five minutes – the oven seemed to _sense_ what he was preparing, in a manner of speaking.

 _Magic is a wonderful thing_ , Harry thought. He then noticed that the leafy vegetables had wilted just the right amount, so he tapped his wand on the right set of runes, thanking his decision to take up Ancient Runes in the process – the cooker would have thoroughly confused him had it not been for his knowledge of elementary runes.

Suddenly, the fire at the hearth blazed green, making Harry jump and point his drawn wand in its direction. He relaxed as he saw Sirius Black step out with a smile.

"Harry!" Sirius exclaimed, "Good to see you!"

"Indeed," said a quieter male voice. Harry smiled as he saw Remus Lupin turn up through the floo right behind Sirius, "And that smells _delicious_."

Sirius sniffed the air imperiously. And then closed his eyes in bliss. "Oh _boy_ , that smells amazing," Sirius said wistfully, "Haven't had a nice home-cooked steak in _ages_."

Harry laughed. "You guys staying for dinner?" Harry asked. "I can make more of these in minutes."

Sirius and Remus stared at each other forlornly. "Unfortunately," Remus sighed, "No, and it's all thanks to Sirius."

"Oi!" Sirius said indignantly, "I didn't know the Potters were having _home-made_ dinner today!"

"Or that Harry was such a good cook," Remus said.

Harry laughed again. "Alright, alright," he said with his palms raised, "You guys don't have to resort to flattery. I get the hint - I'll invite you all for dinner before school starts again."

Sirius elbowed Remus. "See?" Sirius said, "Flattery works. All the time. Even with the men."

"Good to know," Remus said mildly.

"Not that I'm… y'know… into men," Sirius added.

"Uh huh," Harry said dubiously.

"Oi!"

Harry changed the topic, for Sirius' sake. "How do you guys know my mother didn't make this?" Harry asked.

Sirius palmed his face. Remus smiled and said, "We've… eaten Lily's cooking before. And James', for that matter."

"Yup," Sirius said, "And trust me, I'd rather eat Hagrid's rock cakes again, than be invited for a Lily and James… er… _special_."

Harry shook his head.

"Well," Sirius added pointing to the skillet, "At least you're bucking the family tradition."

"The family tradition?" asked a very menacing female voice from the staircase that wound down to the hall, "I wonder what that is."

"Ixnay on the Potter cooking tradition," Sirius whispered to Remus and Harry, "Lily's _very_ sensitive."

"I heard that," Lily said delicately as she entered the hall.

Harry's breath caught in his throat. Sirius whistled and even Remus raised his eyebrows.

Lily was wearing a very elegant evening dress – a deep-red one-shoulder gown with an empire waist. Harry couldn't help but notice how well the dress matched Lily's lush red mane, and how her the high waist only served to accentuate her buxom shape. Lily was _dressed_ _up_ – something Harry had never actually seen before, and he was mystified as to _why_.

Then, Sirius puffed out his chest and made his way to Lily, holding his nose in the air.

"Pleased to meet you, _madamoiselle_ ," Sirius said in a faux-debonair voice. Lily looked less than amused. Sirius continued, "I'm Sirius Black – pureblood misfit and agent of the Ministry of Magic."

"Sirius…" Lily said, exasperated.

"I'm actually here to see Lily Potter, but I'm afraid I can't find her anywhere," Sirius continued obliviously, "She looks a _little_ bit like you, but more… frumpy, and earthy, and ug…"

"One more word," Lily said dangerously, "And I'm looking up a castration spell."

Remus laughed as Sirius backed away in a hurry.

"Hot date?" the werewolf asked. Sirius raised an eyebrow at Lily.

Harry was _slightly_ miffed.

"Not quite," Lily said, resolutely looking away from Sirius, "Just thought I'd dress up a little for dinner. Especially since Harry's making it himself… and all that."

Sirius scratched his head. "I don't get it," he said, "I mean, my old lady did put on a dress occasionally, but I'd hardly say that improved the ambience of a typical Black Family Dinner."

"Maybe that's because this _isn't_ a Black Family Dinner," Lily countered, "I just wanted to dress _up_ for dinner. What's wrong with that? This is _my_ house, after all."

Sirius shrugged again. He looked at Remus and said, "Well, just thought we'd drop by before I took this old wolf out for his first date in _ten years_."

"Really?" Harry asked, tearing his eyes away from Lily and looking at Remus, "You haven't had a date in ten years?"

"Yup," Sirius said as he shook his head, "And I thought _I_ was the one that spent the last decade starving a cell."

The room grew very quiet.

"Well, _that_ killed the mood," Lily muttered.

Sirius laughed. "Hey," he told them, "I'm well over Azkaban, folks. Anyway, now that we're fashionably late, we can finally pop up for our double date and charm the ladies out of their panties and into our… uh… never mind." Sirius looked nervously at Lily.

"Bye," Remus said as Sirius hurriedly pulled him away towards the floo, "Enjoy your dinner."

The fire blazed green again as the men stepped through it, and then died down. Harry rubbed the back of his head as he tried _not_ to look in Lily's direction.

The oven beeped and opened, indicating that the steak was done.

"Uh," he said finally, "I didn't know… I don't really have any formal clothes…"

Lily smiled at him. "It's okay, Harry," she said, "I suppose this was an… impulsive decision on my part. But it's been ages since I wore this, and I just thought…"

"No," Harry interrupted, looking at Lily again, "You look _beautiful_."

Lily beamed.

"Great!" she exclaimed, "So… does that beep mean dinner's ready?"

Harry nodded. "Just give me a minute to top off the steak," he said as he moved to the oven.

Harry found himself ridiculously confused – the main point of confusion being his inability to stop himself from comparing Narcissa and Lily.

He had no idea _why_ his mind was trying to draw them into an imaginary contest with each other. And yet, here he was desperately trying not to stare at Lily, while still trying to hold a polite and admittedly interesting conversation.

Granted, his conversations with Narcissa were always interesting and usually involved a variety of topics, but during his later classes, he had never had to hide his wandering glances – Narcissa seemed to _invite_ them. _Here_ , on the other hand, Harry _had_ to stop his wandering glances.

Nonetheless, his rebellious teenage brain kept spewing relentless comparisons. Where Narcissa was statuesque and graceful, Lily was buxom and athletic. Where Narcissa had a serpentine grace to her movements, Lily exuded power and speed. While their heights were roughly similar, Narcissa appeared to be taller because of her slight build. Lily, on the other hand, was almost Amazon in terms of build – except in terms of height. The redhead had _curves_ – the high waist of her dress only seemed to emphasize her bust, much as Harry tried _not_ to stare. Where Narcissa's hair was curly and usually coiffured in an elaborate style, Lily's hair was straight and lush, and the redhead seemed to prefer it loose and flowing over her shoulders.

And they were both _beautiful_. And… _attractive_.

 _This is so wrong_ , Harry thought to himself as he shoved another piece of steak into his mouth.

Lily had to admit that Harry's ability to grasp a new concept, while functional and instinctual, was admirable. He did not seem to have her own knack for memorization and subsequent learning – he seemed to learn _instinctually_ , through _practice_ and conversation.

And she was impressed by his grasp of basic Arithmancy and his ability to hold a basic conversation on the topic of Magical Theory; when pressed, Harry finally admitted that he had "done a bit of learning" over the summer during the camp.

That set Lily on edge, again. While she _had_ noticed his gaze wandering all over her body, much to her satisfaction (there was a _reason_ she had donned this dress), he still seemed to be preoccupied with thoughts of what had transpired over the summer.

Lily huffed internally. He wouldn't _dare_ compare her to some little _girl_ , would he?

"I'm a little out of date with the latest papers in Arithmancy, I'm afraid," Lily said, brushing her thoughts and insecurities aside for the moment, "I haven't really had a chance to look up much apart from Potions."

Harry nodded. "Well, it's not like I'm an expert," Harry said, "But there's… apparently been some exciting, if a little disquieting, new research in the field."

"Oh?" Lily asked, raising an eyebrow, "Did Hermione tell you about it?"

Truth be told, Lily was _slightly_ concerned about Hermione's closeness to Harry as well – the girl, when she wasn't determined to look as unappealing as possible, was actually quite good-looking. And given her closeness to Harry, Lily was a little worried about whether Hermione had any… _designs_ … on _her_ Harry.

 _Stop it Lily_ , she thought to herself.

"Well," Harry said, his eyes glinting, "Nar… uh… I was just… er… discussing this stuff with… people at the camp."

"People?" Lily asked, "Of the female persuasion?"

Harry looked askance at her. "Erm," he said, "Maybe?"

"Are you _with_ that Chang girl?" Lily asked irritably. She couldn't take the suspense any more.

Harry looked surprised at the sudden question.

"Uh," Harry said, looking around desperately. Then, he sighed and said, "No. I'm not with the Chang girl… uh… I mean, I'm not with Cho."

"Then who are you with?" Lily asked, leaning on the table and putting her fork down.

"No one?" Harry ventured, bewildered by the flow of the conversation.

"So, what's with all the rumors?" Lily pressed.

"That's just… Ron and Sirius being… Ron and Sirius," Harry stammered, "I never actually said I was in _any_ sort of relationship. I just liked… to wander around camp by myself."

"Uh huh," Lily said suspiciously, "So… you weren't meeting Cho?"

"No," Harry said, shaking his head a little _too_ emphatically.

"And you're not in a relationship with some girl?" Lily asked.

"No," Harry repeated, bemused.

"Oh thank goodness," Lily blurted in relief and then flushed as Harry raised his eyebrows. "I mean, you should really focus on your… studies… at this age," she finished lamely.

There was a very awkward pause in the conversation.

"So," Lily prompted and then flinched as she realized she had been a bit too loud, "You were about to tell me about that new, disquieting research."

"Right," Harry said slowly, and then continued, "So, this research began with a few experiments conducted by the Chinese and French equivalents of our Ministry of Magic. In the early seventies, a bunch of arithmancers found that magic – or at least the field that generates what we call magic…"

"The _Nexus_ ," Lily interrupted, "Magic is widely believed to originate from a… _field_ , for lack of a better term, that is believed to be an inherent part of our universe."

"Yes, the _nexus_ ," Harry continued, "Apparently, the arithmancers found that nexus – the source of all magic – is actually _decreasing_ in strength."

Lily started. "Whoa," she said, "That's a bit morbid. Any idea how they found that out?"

"I'm not sure," Harry said, scratching his head, "Nar… I was told that it had something to do with space."

"Space?" Lily asked, her mind working overtime to find out why Harry had corrected himself mid-sentence. Exactly _who_ had been telling him this stuff?

"Yeah, space," Harry said, "In the seventies, some French Ministry wizards snuck a monitoring device – like a sneakoscope, only it detects the potential for powerful magic in the vicinity – on board a spaceship that the muggles had sent to Mars. The device sent back signals at regular intervals, but at some point between Earth and Mars, it gave out. Only, the arithmancers had made the device to last – so it shouldn't have switched itself off at all."

"I remember that experiment," Lily said, "It implied that the device had given out because there was _no magic_ in the vicinity. Which means that at some point between Earth and Mars, magic _itself_ ceases to exist. It had startling implications for all of us – it implied that magic was limited to _Earth_ , and that the nexus might be centered on Earth."

"It also meant that wizards and witches couldn't actually travel beyond a certain distance away from Earth," Harry agreed, "Unless they wanted to lose their very _magic_."

Lily nodded and motioned for Harry to continue.

"Well," Harry said, "A bunch of Chinese arithmancers, sponsored by their Ministry, decided to confirm that finding. So they sent far more sophisticated instruments…"

"On another muggle craft?" Lily asked.

"No, no, they made a spacecraft themselves – it was little more than a sophisticated broomstick according to what… I heard," Harry replied, "But this time, the spacecraft _itself_ failed before it reached _half_ of the distance the previous instrument had covered. Which means that the nexus is getting _weaker_ and smaller."

"Or," Lily countered, "It _could_ mean that the nexus changes naturally with time, flitting back and forth in strength over a cyclical period."

Harry nodded. "I did mention that to… the person that told me all this… well, I actually didn't think of that _particular_ alternative. But I did argue that maybe the nexus was affected by planetary movements, or something," Harry said quickly, making Lily even more curious to find out just _who_ he had been talking to, "But they've confirmed it through various other studies. Several other countries have since sent out crafts of a similar sort – and the results have been similar over a period of years. Each time, the instruments they send out fail earlier and earlier, which means that the radius of influence of the nexus is decreasing rapidly.

"Of course," Harry finished, "It _could_ mean that the nexus is merely centering itself on Earth and that it'll become steady at some point. But according to most arithmancers, the rate at which the nexus is decreasing in size at the moment – which has held constant over the last two decades - means that magic _might_ vanish entirely within _our_ lifetimes."

There was a pause. "I see," Lily said, her eyes wide at the implications of what Harry had just said, "Magic could _die_ in the next few decades. That's… well, that's more than disquieting."

"Of course," Harry said, "The pureblood wing probably thinks it's because of all the muggleborns and half-bloods – magic's growing weaker and all that."

Lily laughed. "Do _you_ believe that?" she asked.

"I should hope not," Harry said, "I've barely discovered this wonderful world. I'd hate to see it go away so soon."

The remainder of their dinner passed in relative silence.

"Harry," Lily said at last, "That was an _amazing_ dinner. I haven't eaten food that good since I left the Evans household."

Harry blushed. "Eh," he muttered, "Thanks."

"We'll have to work on your self-esteem," Lily said mildly.

Harry flushed an even deeper red, making him look _more_ adorable in Lily's opinion. "Right," he said, "I bought some ice cream at the store… y'know… for dessert."

"Oh Harry," Lily purred, "You know _exactly_ what a woman needs."

Harry's eyes almost bugged out and he gulped.

This time, Lily managed _not_ to flush. She was feeling more buoyant now that they'd done this – and she had noticed how Harry _really_ couldn't keep his eyes off her for long – and now that she knew he wasn't in a relationship with some girl. He was up for grabs, and she _was_ a Gryffindor.

"I'm… uh… going to get some ice cream," Harry said and moved towards the freezer.

Harry found himself getting more confused as they ate dessert. If he didn't know better, he'd think Lily was… _flirting_ with him. And she wasn't using seductive whispers and constant stream of innuendos like Narcissa did – this was _far_ more direct. At the moment, Lily's feet were on his lap as she leaned back on her chair, relishing the ice cream, while her feet rubbed on his right thigh over his jeans.

"Y'know, Harry," Lily said, her voice husky, "I really wish we'd done this… earlier. I _love_ talking to you."

Her left foot moved higher up his right thigh, onto his waist, and then her toes pressed into his abs. Harry couldn't help but notice that her dress had ridden up, exposing her milky calves and dainty feet. It took an effort for Harry to keep himself from drooling.

"Mmmm," Lily said, "The ice cream is _delicious_."

"Uh…" Harry stuttered, "Do you want some more?"

"Sure," Lily said, dropping her feet to the ground.

Harry thanked his stars for that, got up and moved to the freezer.

And then, just as he reached for the tub in the freezer, he felt a presence behind him – the scent of a wildflower he couldn't quite place wafted up his nose. Wild. Untamed. Powerful.

"My hands are _cold_ ," Lily murmured behind him. She was _very_ close to his ear.

"Um," Harry said.

Lily hugged him from behind and Harry stiffened as he felt her breasts press into his back. _Her heavy, bigger-than-Narcissa's-and-so-soft breasts_.

 _Wait, what?_ Harry thought to himself desperately. _Why would I think that?_

"So… cold," Lily said, as her fingers skirted under his t-shirt and over his stomach, "And you're so _warm_. So… _hot_."

"Uh," Harry said. _Very suave_ , he cursed.

"Just warming my fingers," Lily whispered.

Her hands moved higher up, slowly teasing their way up his skin, prodding and massaging, to his chest. And then, with a smooth motion, Lily's palms rubbed over his back, moving _down_ this time. Lower and lower, until her soft, silky hands moved right into the waistband of his pants, right on the edge of his buttocks…

Harry yelped.

Lily giggled and seemed to take pity on him. "My hands feel less cold now," she whispered as she drew back, "But we're far from _done_."

Harry turned around and backed up against the kitchen cabinet.

"We're far from done with the _ice cream_ ," Lily said with a twinkle in her eye. "What did _you_ think I was talking about?"

 _I am so screwed,_ Harry thought to himself.

Lily seemed to _float_ towards the corner of the kitchen, where she switched on the wizarding wireless. A song – earthy and passionate – began playing on it.

"Care to dance?" Lily asked with a glance at him.

"I… uh…," Harry said as he closed the freezer – it was evident that Lily wasn't really interested in ice cream, "I'm not really one to dance."

"That just won't do, will it?" Lily asked as she held out her hand expectantly.

Harry eventually took her hand, noticing how powerful her grip was despite how his hand dwarfed hers, and gulped as he found himself pressed into a _very_ attractive Lily Potter. They started twirling in place, very slowly, as the song floated out through the speakers.

"Is that in French?" Harry asked, desperately trying to distract himself from the shape of Lily's voluptuous figure pressed against his chest.

" _Le rustre_ ," Lily sighed, "It's an old _old_ song – and this is my _favorite_ version of the song. It was very popular back when I was Head Girl."

"Oh," Harry asked, "Is the singer still famous now?" He tried his best to avoid stepping on Lily's toes.

"Hardly," Lily said as she placed her head on his shoulder, "The singer was one of those one-hit wonders. Apolline Delacour. But all the ladies… and some of the men… absolutely _loved_ this version of the song."

"What's it about?" Harry asked as he got into the spirit of the dance. His mother's enthusiasm – and her _skill_ at dancing – was apparently infectious.

"It's part of a very old nursery rhyme – most of which has been lost to time," Lily said with a tinkling laugh. She drew her head off his shoulder and looked into his eyes as they twirled slowly on the spot.

With a start, Harry realized how… _green_ … her eyes were. Granted, people did tell him they had similar eyes, but they _didn't_ , in his opinion – Lily's were a vibrant, powerful shade of green that seemed to have an… aura… of defiance deep within them. His eyes, on the other hand, were expressive… just not as _ferocious_ as Lily's seemed to be.

Nonetheless, her eyes were mesmerizing. And then Lily began to sing softly, in time with the strange French words of the ballad drifting over from the radio speakers,

" _Baseborn, forged in flame,_

 _Bloodied, on shores of yonder sea,_

 _Careworn, amid leafy glades,_

 _Entombed, he shall know peace._

 _Fire, ocean, earth and bone,_

' _Ere magic rests to atone."_

"Beautiful," Harry whispered, once the song had finished. Vibrant green eyes and puffy red lips nestled under a mane of blood-red hair faced him.

Lily laughed – a rich, husky burst of amusement that sent pleasant little shivers down Harry's spine - and drew away, slipping out of his grasp. With a start, Harry realized that the song had ended.

"Thanks for the dinner, love," Lily whispered, sending yet another happy shiver up Harry's spine.

Then she walked out of the hall, red dress rustling softly on the tiled floor and the scent of the mysterious wildflower still lingering in the air like a wonderful kiss that had since faded into a sweet memory.

A minute later, a stupefied and distressingly aroused Harry Potter realized the name of the elusive wildflower. "Lily," he murmured as he walked over to the sink and tapped the rune that made the dishes wash themselves.


	7. The Devil and the Sea

**The Devil and the Sea**

Harry leaned back against the plush seat, feeling the rumble of the train barrelling ahead underneath him.

While he had ridden the Hogwarts Express several times before, it felt like an entirely new experience this time around. For the other students, riding the Express meant going _back_ to school, leaving their homes behind. For him though, during all the preceding trips, the train had always been a ride _towards_ home. However, this time, it felt… different. Like he was leaving one home for another. It didn't quite feel like he was _leaving_ home – but he supposed that was because everything that mattered to him in Godric's Hollow was coming _with_ him.

Hedwig, for instance. Both his Firebolt – an extremely lavish present from his godfather – and his trusty Nimbus – the broom he had won the House Cup with last year.

And _Lily_.

He couldn't call her _mother_ now. Even in his head. It just felt… _wrong_.

She was _Lily_ now.

" _I'm not sure I quite get it, Lily," Hermione said, "Uh… I mean… Mrs. Potter… uh… Professor Potter."_

 _Harry stifled a laugh as he tried to crush the ginger roots he had laid out on his table with a spoon._

 _Lily smiled at the bushy-haired girl. "Lily will do fine, Hermione," she said, "I've told you that a gazillion times. As for the Draught, I suppose I should've made that more clear, shouldn't I? It basically counters the effects of the seeds we put in earlier."_

" _Oh," Hermione said, as she jotted down a couple of notes on her book, "Thanks, Lily."_

" _So," Lily asked, "Shall I continue?"_

 _Hermione nodded with her eyes still on the book. Lily looked at Harry and winked saucily._

 _Harry fumbled his grip on the spoon and it clattered onto the floor._

" _Careful now, Mister Potter," Lily said archly as Hermione looked up at Harry, "That could be construed as disturbance during class – which would eventually mean… detention."_

 _Hermione giggled._

Harry had spent an entire week with his mom at home – a relatively novel experience for him. During the summer after his second year - after his "rescue" from the Dursleys - Lily had barely been around for him to speak to. She had been busy flitting back and forth between various departments of the Ministry, setting her affairs in order and trying to desperately arrange Sirius' trial and convince all the politicians that letting Sirius go _wouldn't_ mean political suicide.

But this summer had been different. Lily had been at home, with him. Granted, they had only closed that weird gap that had existed between them during the past week – but that one week felt like a lifetime to him.

But the summer had been wonderful in more ways than one. He had met Narcissa, and now, he knew… _Lily_.

 _I am so screwed,_ Harry thought to himself morosely.

He had spent most of the past week wondering exactly _what_ Lily's advances meant – was she _flirting_ with him? Was she coming on to him? What was going on? And wasn't all of that just… _wrong_? And why was he _attracted_ to her in the first place? What was _wrong_ with him?

And then, two days before he was to leave for Hogwarts, she had cornered him in the kitchen.

 _Harry grew slightly stiff as soft hands hugged him from behind and he felt a very feminine body press against his back. Nonetheless, he congratulated himself for not squirming – he was growing accustomed to these constant… shows of affection… from Lily._

" _Harry," she whispered. He smiled in response, though she couldn't quite see him with her head nestled in the crook where his neck met his shoulder._

 _And then, with a firm grip on his shoulder, she twirled him around on the spot to face her._

 _Harry backed up against the cabinet in kitchen as she edged even closer to him. He mildly recollected that the first time she had done this, he had retreated in a similar manner._

 _He tried to look away – away from those fierce emerald eyes – but her gaze was too intent, too strong, too… enthralling… to avoid. So he looked at her with a faint smile as she pressed up against him._

" _Harry," she breathed, and that fragrance… her fragrance… overpowered his resistance. She was beautiful – every feature on her face, from those fierce eyes, to the cute nose, to the rosy cheeks, to those plush red lips, to the strong chin, to the rich deep-red hair, was absolutely perfect. His gaze wandered down her neck and then snuck lower…_

 _Oh boy._

 _He was in it, deep._

" _You're gorgeous," he whispered, and she… shivered._

 _Before he knew it, she was upon him and her lips were on his. For a moment, he was absolutely shell-shocked, but weeks of doing this over summer kicked his brain into action and he kissed her right back. The temperature in the room seemed to rise by entire degrees as he flushed, and hugged her in a powerful grip, pressing her against him, feeling her heavenly bosom crushing against his chest._

 _Lily moaned into his mouth, her tongue swirling around his deliciously. He twirled on the spot and pushed her against the cabinet, not even stopping in his oral massage of her lips, her delightful husky moans spurring him on._

 _And then, with a wet plop, their lips were off each other and they panted._

 _Lily laughed lightly. "Harry," she whispered, "I… I want you."_

 _Harry smiled and leaned in for another kiss. Lily muffled her next laugh against his lips and clung on as tightly as she could._

 _And for the next several minutes, Harry was lost to the bliss of feeling his lips against hers._

Harry had no idea _what_ to feel about the entire situation – after that event, he _knew_ that he _wanted_ to see where his relationship with Lily went. Just as he wanted to see where his relationship with Narcissa went. There had been many more snogging sessions after that; although Lily had shown signs of wanting to move beyond that, she seemed to be taking things really slow for _his_ sake. Or for the sake of his sanity.

And _that_ was why he was in deep, deep trouble. Was he cheating on them? But then again, wasn't Narcissa cheating on _her_ husband when she was with him? Were he and Narcissa even _in_ a properly defined relationship?

 _No_ , Harry thought, beating his head lightly against the window of the train, _Don't rationalize this. This is wrong – and you know it_.

 _But you're enjoying the situation in any case_ , said a slightly more ruthless part of his brain, _And what are you going to do anyway? Confess to Lily and Narcissa that you're in a relationship with the other woman? They'd tear you to bits! They hate each other!_

 _So what should I do?_ The saner part of Harry's mind asked.

 _Just… let things unfold. This time. Until you come to a point where you can make a choice – quickly and decisively. They're not likely to meet each other anyway._

 _That's not action – that's indecisive, wimpy inaction!_

 _What else can you do?_

He looked up and tried to shake himself out of his thoughts, only to see Hermione watching him like a hawk.

"Hermione," Harry asked irritably, "Is there something on my face?"

She shrugged and looked at Ron, who was talking to Neville Longbottom about the World Cup final.

And then, the door opened to reveal a very flushed-looking Ginny Weasley, who was trying really hard not to look in Harry's direction.

"Hey Ron," she said brightly, "Eloise Midgen's making out with some bloke in our compartment – so… we just wanted to sit somewhere else for a bit."

Ron shuddered. "Yeah," he said, "I wouldn't want to see Eloise Midgen making out."

"Ron!" Hermione said indignantly as she slapped him across the arm.

"What?" he asked.

Ginny shook her head. "What I meant, _Ron_ , was that we moved away in order to give the couple a bit of _privacy_. As opposed to being disgusted at what they were doing like a juvenile _twit_."

"Oi!" Ron protested, "I don't have anything against snogging! It's just the thought of… y'know… _Eloise Midgen_ that makes me want to retch."

Hermione smacked the gangly redhead again.

"Anyway," Ginny said loudly, not entirely managing to hide her embarrassment, "I also told Luna she could tag along."

"Oh great," Ron muttered.

"Hello," a dreamy voice floated from behind Ginny as a pretty girl with protuberant eyes and dirty blonde hair made her way into the compartment and plopped down beside Harry, much to the disappointment of Ginny Weasley, who had to make do with a seat near the door to the compartment opposite Neville.

Harry smiled at Luna.

"You're Harry Potter," she said, her voice still weirdly blank and bereft of all emotion.

"I… er… I am, and you're… Luna?" Harry ventured as Ron snorted.

"Luna Lovegood," she said.

Harry tried to keep a straight face and held out a hand. Luna stared at it for a while, before she gave him the magazine she was holding. Ginny's lips tightened as she tried to control her laughter, even as Ron, Neville and Hermione looked on, completely bemused.

"Oh," Harry said blankly as he looked at the magazine. Apparently, it was a wizarding publication called _The Quibbler_.

"And you're Hermione Granger," Luna said, turning to look at Hermione.

Hermione looked completely nonplussed.

"Hello, Ronald," Luna continued, completely oblivious and turned to face Ron.

"Hey, Loony," Ron said cheerily. Ginny kicked him on the leg. "Uh… Luna," Ron quickly corrected.

Harry raised an eyebrow at Ron. The redhead shrugged and said, "Loon… er… Luna used to come over to our place all the time when we were kids. Her father lives right on top of that little hill just outside our apple orchard."

"The Rook's Nest," Luna chirped, her voice alarmingly bright all of a sudden.

Harry idly flipped through the magazine in his hands as the compartment settled into conversation and had to laugh when he saw the first article – it was an essay on ' _The Life and Times of Sirius Black, Part XIV – Adventures with a Mermaid in the Caribbean Isles.'_ He wondered if Sirius had anything to do with the article.

"Er, Luna," Harry asked after a pause in the conversation where Luna simply stared at every person occupying the compartment in turn, making the subject of her blank gaze _very_ uncomfortable, "Do you happen to know where I can get a copy of this magazine?"

Hermione stared at him for some reason.

"You can keep that," Luna said serenely, "I have ten more copies of that issue. My father owns _The Quibbler_."

Hermione turned to stare at Luna and ever so slowly edged away from the girl.

"I… see," Harry said. He then glanced at Hermione, who had sidled up to the window and was now directly opposite him, still looking at Luna warily. He then looked at Luna again. "Is this publication intended to be… less than serious?" he asked, wondering if Zonko's stocked copies of _The Quibbler_.

"No," Luna replied mildly, " _The Quibbler_ is a perfectly serious magazine that collates articles from various persons of outstanding reputation. Gilderoy Lockhart wrote in our magazine before he was impregnated by a snottlewurt."

A peal of laughter burst forth from Ginny's mouth before she stifled it with her fist. Hermione seemed to shrink into her seat and Ron palmed his face.

Harry, on the other hand, was trying _really_ hard to ignore the idea of Gilderoy Lockhart as "a person of outstanding reputation," given what had happened in his second year. "Impregnated by a… what?" he asked, bewildered.

"A snottlewurt," Luna repeated with a mystifyingly straight face, "The only animals in the magical world capable of impregnating male wizards.

"I… what?" Harry asked as Ginny continued to snort into her fist.

"Snottlewurts have these long, thick, tubular…" Luna started.

"We do _not_ want to know," Ron cut in sharply before she could finish.

Luna stopped abruptly and turned to stare at Ron, who promptly grumbled and looked away.

Harry didn't know whether he wanted to laugh or slam his head against the window.

An hour later, Harry found himself enjoying Luna's presence in their compartment with increasing intensity, much to Hermione's displeasure. Sure, the Ravenclaw girl seemed to have her quirks – as far as wizarding publications and magical creatures were concerned; but when talking about various _other_ topics, such as Ancient Runes, the girl was surprisingly level-headed and her insights were… unexpected.

At the moment though, Ginny and Luna were talking to each other about hair products (Hermione tried her level best to appear disinterested, but eventually gave in to the temptation and joined in) as Ron entertained Neville – who had entered their compartment before Ginny and Luna – with tales of the Quidditch Finals. Harry, unfortunately, found himself a part of the former conversation, seeing as how he was right against the window and surrounded by the girls.

So he drifted off into memories of the summer – of Lily and Narcissa, and _guilt_ and _elation_ and brief pleasures and entirely unknown futures – until the sound of the door slamming open yet again shocked him out of his reverie.

He looked at the door dully and groaned as he saw an annoyingly familiar face present itself, flanked by two more very unwelcome faces.

"Oh, for the love of all that is good and holy," Hermione muttered.

"What are you three idiots _doing_ here?" Ron asked loudly, "Is the Hogwarts Express Douche Patrol part of your Hogwarts itinerary?"

"Very clever, Weasel," Malfoy said snootily. He then looked around the compartment. "Potty, mudblood," he said, nodding at Harry and Hermione while ignoring Neville and the third years. Hermione flinched, but straightened up in her seat nonetheless. Harry tensed.

"Speaking of mudbloods," Draco said, as Ron _and_ Neville snarled, while Ginny looked on, horrified at Malfoy's impertinence, "Granger, it's… unfortunate, that you inherited your father's bushy hair."

"What?" Hermione asked, bewildered, and trying to ignore his frequent use of the expletive referring to her muggle parentage.

"Because I saw you with your muggle… _mother_ ," Malfoy spat, "I must admit though, she's quite the looker… for a mere _muggle_."

Ron's ears grew red and Hermione's eyes widened. Harry found himself completely nonplussed by Malfoy's unusual crassness – not that he expected any better of the idiot anyway.

"But then again," Draco continued snidely, "She _is_ a muggle. It's all well and good for a single night, but then I'm told they tend to follow you _home_. And that could be a problem."

"Malfoy, you little…" Ron snarled.

"Also," Draco interrupted loudly, "She's not my type. Too thin, too… _bony_. See, _I_ like a bit of flesh – something to hold on to while you _pound_ her. Now _your_ mother, Ronniekins – my my _my_ …. Now _there's_ a woman _made_ for fu…"

Ginny's wand whipped out, but Goyle, who had been standing behind Draco, blocked her arm and her spell went wide, missing Neville by an inch. However, Ron rushed forward and slammed into Draco, who tumbled back into the door. The two teens tumbled out of the compartment and onto the floor of the aisle outside. Goyle tried to rush out, but Ginny's wand found its mark this time around and Goyle landed in a heap beside Draco and Ron, clutching at his face and shrieking in alarm. Crabbe made a sudden movement towards Ginny, but froze as Harry poked his wand right into the ogre-like teen's neck.

"Try me," Harry snarled, as Ron and Draco traded punches outside the compartment. Crabbe made a sudden movement and whipped his arm around, but Harry blocked the swipe. He jumped, slamming his unarmed left fist into Crabbe's nose as gravity pulled him back down and sending the boy reeling outside the compartment. Harry stepped outside, trying to stop the fight before they got themselves into trouble.

"Enough," said a soft, but powerful, female voice on his right.

Harry's jaw dropped as he turned on the spot and stared. He had heard that voice before – _several_ times in _several_ tones.

Ron and Draco froze for a moment. Draco was the first to recover from the interruption and pushed Ron away off him.

"Mother," he said, and then paused as the woman he addressed raised a perfect eyebrow in warning, "Er… I mean, _Professor_ Malfoy."

Harry took a step back as Narcissa Malfoy stalked towards the group. She daintily raised her wand in her right hand, pointing it at a prone Goyle, who _finally_ stopped screaming. Then she cast healing spells at both Draco and Crabbe, whose bruises and minor cuts healed up immediately.

"Crabbe," Narcissa said, "You'll go to Madam Pomfrey as soon as we land at Hogwarts – that broken nose needs looking at. I've set the bone back, but I'd like her to take a look at it nonetheless."

Crabbe nodded meekly. Ron, who was sporting a large shiner over his right eye, glared at Narcissa.

"What are you _doing_ here?" Harry blurted out at last.

Narcissa turned slowly towards him, brushing a ringlet of curly blonde hair behind her ear, her eyebrow raised in inimitable fashion.

"I'm sorry… _Professor_ ," Harry said after an awkward pause and Ron swivelled to look at him in surprise for his lack of defiance, even as Draco smirked, "I meant to ask – what… what are you teaching at Hogwarts this year?"

"Defence Against the Dark Arts," Narcissa said pertly, "I think you'll find me… _satisfactory_ … at the very least, Mister Potter."

Harry flinched as he heard her fleeting emphasis on the requisite innuendo. He wasn't dreaming – Narcissa _was_ standing before him and she _would_ be at Hogwarts – as the instructor for his favourite subject, no less. While his _other_ lover ( _Lover? Love interest? Girlfriend? Incredibly hot mother who he didn't really look at as a mother so much as an incredibly attractive older woman?_ ) taught his _least_ favourite subject.

He was _doomed_. Really, incredibly _doomed_.

"And as a Professor of this… _illustrious_ school of Witchcraft and Wizardry," Narcissa continued casually, "I'm afraid I cannot allow such boorish behaviour to go unpunished."

"Professor," Hermione said tentatively, stepping out into the aisle, "Term hasn't really started yet. And we're _really_ sorry."

"Yeah, right," Ron muttered angrily.

"You're right, Miss… Granger, I presume?" Narcissa said archly, and continued after Hermione nodded, "And since the school year has not officially commenced yet, I cannot deduct house points. However, I _can_ assign detention."

Hermione fidgeted nervously. Ron straightened, as if daring the new Professor to give him detention.

Narcissa, however, rounded on Harry. "Mister Potter, _you_ shall serve detention with me tomorrow. Right after your last class – which would be… Potions."

Harry raised his eyebrows. It was… curious that Narcissa could seemingly recall his fourth year class schedule at will. He merely pursed his lips and nodded.

Narcissa turned to go away, but before she could leave, a very confused Ron asked, "What about me?"

She swivelled around, her long blonde hair whipping across her face. "What _about_ you?" she asked coldly, her blue eyes chips of ice.

Ron gulped and said nothing.

Narcissa nodded stiffly and walked out of their car, her heels somehow clicking sharply against the carpeted floor. Draco and his coterie left the car in the other direction, not even bothering to smirk at them. Ron looked thoroughly nonplussed.

"Why would she give _you_ a detention?" he asked.

"I hit Crabbe," Harry replied.

"And what about me and Malfoy?" Ron asked.

"Malfoy and _me_ ," Hermione corrected.

"Are you sure?" Ginny asked, "Or is it Malfoy and _I_?"

"Holy _hell_ ," Ron said suddenly, "Malfoy's mom is a Professor at Hogwarts! And I thought _Quirrell_ was bad."

"It doesn't matter," Hermione said quickly and crossed her arms as she stared at Harry, "I'm quite curious to know why that… _woman_ would single you out as well."

He shrugged.

"You better watch out, mate," Ron said darkly to him, "The Malfoys are out in force. And they're gunning for _you_."

Harry merely stepped into the compartment and sat down near the window.

"Harry," Hermione said, entering the compartment and sitting in front of him again, "This cannot be good. You should tell Lily."

Harry stared at Hermione blankly. "Why would I want to tell L… my mother that I got into a fight before school had even started?" he asked.

Hermione shook her head. "Harry," she said, "I was here. _You_ didn't fall for their taunts. You defended yourself from Crabbe. You may have… over-reacted… but surely, Lily could get this overturned…"

"Let it go," Harry told her, "I'm _not_ afraid of our new Professor."

"As much as I hate to admit it… Ron's right, Harry," Hermione said, making Ron whip his head towards her and stare in surprise, "Doesn't it seem like a bit too much of a coincidence to you? Malfoy enters our compartment, trying to draw us into a fight and his _mother_ just happens to be standing outside?"

"I _still_ can't believe Draco's mother is a _Professor_ at our school," Ron repeated, burying his face in his hands, "Do you think she's going to be the new Head of Slytherin too? We're _screwed_. We're never going to win the Cup again."

"Because that's what _matters_ ," Hermione said to Ron sarcastically, "Really, Ron? The Cup? _That's_ what you're worried about? I'm talking about Harry's _safety_."

"I'll be fine," Harry murmured. He looked away from Hermione, only to see Neville, Ginny and Luna following the conversation intently. Or rather, Neville and Ginny were following the conversation intently. Luna was humming an oddly familiar tune to herself.

"Harry," Hermione persisted, but Harry cut her off.

"Look, Hermione," he said, "Even if there _is_ an insidious plot the Malfoys are hatching, I doubt they're going to be carrying it out on the very first day of school."

Ron shook his head. "She's right," he said, jerking his head towards Hermione, "I think we should try and get this detention overturned. Every single year, we find ourselves right in the middle of Big Trouble… in capital 'B' and 'T' … and our Defence Professors are _usually_ there at the end."

"You're forgetting last year," Harry pointed out, "Nothing really happened. And Lockhart had nothing to do with… the central problem." Harry quickly glanced in Ginny's direction and winced as he saw that the petite redhead had stiffened perceptibly.

Ron looked in Ginny's direction in concern as well. "And you're forgetting that the Malfoys were _why_ that stuff happened," he gritted out.

Harry started. For some reason, he hadn't associated Narcissa with what had happened in second year. Had she been a part of it? He hadn't even _asked_ her about it so far – which wasn't surprising, seeing as how he would rather forget what had happened that year.

"Talk to Lily, Harry," Hermione pleaded, " _Please_."

Harry sighed. "I will," he said firmly, "Now can we _please_ talk about something else? Because if we don't switch topics, I'm going to explode and then go over to Draco's compartment to punch his lights out."

He wasn't lying. All of his doubts, his confusion, his anxiety, and his knowledge of the fact that _both_ Lily and Narcissa would be at Hogwarts with him… it was all threatening to boil over.

Thankfully, Hermione resigned herself to a huff and continued her conversation about hair products with Luna and Ginny. And Ron and Neville talked to each other in low voices.

Harry stared out of the window at the darkening sky. As the scenery swept by him, he began to feel regret, for the first time, at the thought that his summer was over.

As soon as Harry entered the Entrance Hall, Lily cornered him and took him up to her office. Harry wryly noted that he was going to miss most of the Sorting, again. Last year, he had missed the entire first day of school in order to attend Sirius' trial with Lily. And the less said about his experience on the first day of his Second Year, the better. The Whomping Willow _still_ waved its arms threateningly whenever he walked by it – apparently, it was _very_ hard for a tree to forget the memory of a flying car crashing into it.

He was startled out of his wry reflections when he felt Lily's lips on his, immediately after the door to her office slammed shut. He kissed her right back and grinned inwardly when she moaned, even as his lips massaged hers sensuously.

Lily _pulled_ off him and smiled. "Okay," she panted, "I admit it – you're pretty damn _good_."

Harry just kept grinning.

And then she moved away from him and frowned. He sighed – he knew what she had pulled him up to discuss.

"It's been almost two decades since I was last at Hogwarts," she said looking out of the window to her office, which offered a sprawling view of the grounds, including Hagrid's Hut and the Forbidden Forest, "And not much has changed. The walls, the staff – except for that persisting problem with the Defence post, the eager first years… and the grapevine."

Lily turned to look at Harry. "The rumour mill," she continued, "It's still as efficient as ever. Word is, you've managed to secure a detention on the _very_ first day of school. Care to explain, Harry? Or is this a usual occurrence a la the Marauders?"

"The Marauders?" Harry asked blankly.

"Never mind – that's what Sirius, Remus and their gang called themselves," Lily said quickly. Harry couldn't help but notice that Lily didn't mention his father. "I'm more interested in why you managed to land yourself in a detention with that horrid blonde _bitch_."

Harry stared at Lily. He'd never heard her used expletives so openly before. Lily herself flushed ever so slightly, but looked at him defiantly. She waggled a finger at him. "Don't you _dare_ tell anyone else I called my… _colleague_ … " Lily said, spitting out the last word with vehemence, "… a bitch. But then again, if it _walks_ like a… erm… never mind."

She gestured to him to explain. Harry took a moment to recover his poise and then asked a question in return. "Did you know that Nar… er… Professor Malfoy would be here? As a teacher?"

Lily looked at him funnily for a second and then brushed her hair in evident agitation. "No," she spat, "I had no idea that… _woman_ … would be here. I only found out this morning when I came here to set things up for the new term – she was _right there_ in the staff room when I walked in."

Lily sighed and then continued, "So I marched right out, and up to the Headmaster. I asked him… well, I sort of _demanded_ , to be honest, to know why she was here."

Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Apparently," Lily continued, "Albus was intent on hiring someone else as the new Professor of Defence against the Dark Arts. Alastor Moody – an ex-auror. But before the appointment could be finalized – sometime during the past week – the Board of Governors jointly recommended _another_ candidate. Mrs. Narcissa ' _I'm-such-a-bitch_ ' Malfoy."

Harry had to stifle a snort at Lily's inability to keep from abusing Narcissa with every second breath. "Lucius Malfoy's still obviously pulling the strings with the Board," he ventured.

"Obviously," Lily agreed with a sharp nod. "But why _is_ Narcissa here?"

Harry had a rough idea as far as _one_ reason for Narcissa's presence was concerned, but he was hardly about to confess to Lily. Not at that precise moment, anyway – he was still torn on this entire idea of relationships he didn't _know_ he could handle.

"I mean," Lily ranted, "Apparently, she told Dumbledore that teaching students is a _dream_ _come true_ for her. If she loves kids so much, then why did she not take up the post _years_ ago? Why now? And how the _hell_ did Lucius Malfoy convince the board to appoint someone who isn't even qualified to teach the damn subject? Is she a Professor? _No!_ She's _not_!"

"Lockhart wasn't exactly a Professor either," Harry pointed out.

"True," Lily agreed reluctantly, "And I suppose an accredited Professorship is a rare commodity these days. Alastor Moody – the original candidate Albus thought of – doesn't have an accredited teaching qualification either. But at least Mad-Eye… that's what we all called Alastor back in the day… had _experience_ – he was an auror for _decades_. Lockhart had… well… from what you told me, his experience was mostly made-up, but at least it was right _there_ on his resume. What the hell does Narcissa Malfoy have at her disposal? Can she even _cast_ a spell properly?"

Harry managed not to snort. "You studied with her back at school," he said, leaning against the door, since Lily hadn't invited him to take a seat at her desk yet. Apparently, he was being reprimanded… or something. "Was she such a bad witch back then?"

Lily glared at him. "No," she admitted finally, with what he could see was great reluctance, "She was one of the best students in our batch at school. And… one of the most… _accomplished_ … duellists at school."

Harry rolled his eyes. _Of course she was._

"But what has she _done_?" Lily asked vehemently, "What has she _accomplished_?"

Harry looked around the room as the rant continued. If he was being honest with himself, Lily looked _way_ too hot when she was angry – her fierce green eyes blazing with passion and lips parted indignantly. And he'd rather _not_ have to explain being aroused in the middle of what seemed to be the beginning of a bitching session.

"Er," Harry interrupted, "I doubt there's anything anyone can do now. She's _here_ now. And besides, if, like the rumours say, the Defence position is cursed, she's only going to be around for a year."

Lily smiled wistfully for a moment as she imagined whatever horror would be visited upon Narcissa at the end of the year… if the rumour about the curse was true. "Anyway," she said at last, clearing her throat, "What did you do to receive a detention from _her_ , of all people?"

Harry narrated all that had happened on the Hogwarts Express dutifully.

"So let me get this straight," Lily said, her lips curling into a frown, "Ron attacked Draco, Goyle was hexed by Ginny and Crabbe tried to punch _you_. So you defended yourself. And then you stepped out of the compartment only to discover that Narcissa was right _there_ in the aisle _just outside your compartment_? By coincidence?"

"Apparently," Harry said, "And to be fair, I _did_ do a bit more than just defend myself. I kinda punched Crabbe in the nose."

Lily shook her head. "And Goyle got _hexed_. Ron and Draco were _punching_ each other and Narcissa was right there! And she ignored all of them only to punish _you_?"

"Yup," Harry replied.

Lily took a deep breath. "I'm going to go over to Albus and see if I can get this detention re-assigned to someone else. Like Minerva, or perhaps Vector. Or even Sinistra – she's the new Head of Slytherin House, after all."

"The Headmaster might not agree," Harry said, "He'll just say that he thinks the punishment is well-deserved."

"What about the fact that she's _obviously_ singling you out?" Lily replied hotly, "Or the fact that she didn't even _try_ and find out what was happening before handing out _proportionate_ detentions to everyone involved? Like say, Ron? This isn't just a case of favouritism, Harry. This isn't just her sparing Draco from detention while trying to pin the blame on someone else – this is her singling _you_ out for some reason that I cannot even comprehend at the moment!"

"I'm not scared of her," Harry repeated.

"That's _so_ not the point," Lily said firmly. She looked out of the window again for a moment and bent her head in thought as Harry fidgeted on the spot.

"Okay," she said at last, "I suppose going to Albus would be a bit… premature. Anyway, Harry, I want you to be _fully_ alert when you go into Narcissa's office for your detention, _comprendre_?"

Harry nodded.

Lily drew closer to him. "Harry," she said delicately, "I _know_ you can handle yourself – that you're _used_ to handling yourself without anyone to rely on over the past decade. But you don't have to do that anymore. You have _me_. And… I have _you_.

"And I want you to be very, _very_ careful for me, alright? Narcissa is an _incredibly_ dangerous woman, and to make things worse, she's a _Malfoy_. That family is a veritable nest of vipers – they've _always_ been that way. I might belittle her in public – but I do _not_ make the mistake of underestimating her in private.

"She's a _very_ skilled witch – her skills may have atrophied over the years, but I'm sure her mind is as lethal as ever. I've never known her to follow through with a particular course of action without a specific – a _very_ specific goal - in mind. And I don't believe for a second that Draco entered _your_ compartment to pick a fight of his own volition – his dear old _mommy_ was pulling the strings. So if she's given _you_ – and you alone - a detention, it is for a very specific reason."

Harry nodded slowly as he absorbed Lily's words.

"And," Lily continued, "If Narcissa offers you _anything_ at all – I don't care if she offers you a mound of the most delicious chocolates in existence, or the tastiest butterbeer in the universe – do _not_ eat or drink it. Be _very_ careful – I'll be keeping a close eye on the Defence classroom today myself, and so will Albus and Minerva. We all know Narcissa is here for a reason, and that it cannot be a _good_ reason. But I still want _you_ to be watchful."

Harry nodded. "I will," he said solemnly. Lily smiled.

He smirked. "The most delicious mound of chocolate in existence, eh?" he asked.

Lily flushed.

" _Someone's_ got a weakness for chocolate," he teased.

Lily slapped his arm playfully. "Stop that," she snapped, and then continued soberly, "I want you to remember what we just discussed. Be _careful_ , Harry. And now, _off_ with you. They're going to wonder why you aren't in the Great Hall for the Sorting. And come to think of it, my seat's conspicuously empty at the Head Table as well."

Harry turned to leave the office. Lily grabbed his arm and spun him around. "Aren't you forgetting something, handsome?" she asked, her voice a husky purr.

Harry tilted his head curiously. Lily leaned in and he grinned as he kissed her goodbye.

Harry, to his chagrin, found out that he had missed a _very_ important announcement regarding a momentous event taking place at Hogwarts that year – the Triwizard Tournament. Apparently, it was an ancient tournament that had been suspended during the beginning of the First Wizarding War against Voldemort, and had only just been reinstituted that year. Moreover, every student over the age of fourteen would be allowed to participate in the tournament; the selection of students would be made by a magical artefact that everyone called the Goblet of Fire, which had since been placed in the middle of the Great Hall, surrounded by an Age Line to ensure that students who hadn't yet reached fourteen could not drop their names into the goblet.

That announcement caused a lot of grief with the younger years – including Ginny and, surprisingly, Luna, who seemed strangely disappointed that she had missed her chance to participate in a tournament that could help her fund a "Snorkack Hunting Expedition." Harry found himself enjoying the strange girl's company more and more – Luna had sat with them at breakfast the morning after they had arrived, much to his amusement and delight.

Nonetheless, the disappointment of the third years and below (and some fourth years) notwithstanding, the event had caused a great deal of excitement among the rest of the students. Hermione, when asked if she was going to enter, replied in the affirmative. Ron, on the other hand, seemed to find great pleasure in loudly speculating on the honour that would be conferred on the victor of the tournament, while simultaneously decrying his own chances of being selected. Harry even caught him plucking out the petals of a flower before breakfast in their dorm, hoping that a bunch of petals could help him choose between "I should enter" and "I should not."

Harry eventually told him that they would go drop their names into the Goblet together right before curfew, and after his detention, which seemed to console Ron, much to Harry's relief. Apparently, it wasn't a matter of the redhead _wanting_ to compete – Ron _definitely_ wanted to be a part of the tournament; it was more a matter of securing approval for his candidacy _to_ the tournament.

His first day was relatively easy-going - Care of Magical Creatures and Ancient Runes, followed by Potions. Lily seemed to be a bit nervous as the class began, but settled into her usual stride, managing to answer all of her class' questions (Hermione being the most prodigious questioner, much to Harry's surprise – he had thought Hermione would've exhausted her tank during their weeklong summer classes) with ease.

Of course, the easy-going nature of the first day subsided to the back of his mind as he walked into the Defence Classroom on the third floor, after reassuring his friends _and_ Lily all over again that he would be _very_ careful as he entered Narcissa's _den_ , as they called it.

The wrought-iron door creaked open as he walked in, only to be greeted with what appeared to be the same old, albeit empty, classroom. The same wooden seats with surprisingly great, magically induced, padding, the same iron chandelier in the centre and the same projecting apparatus at the end of the large circular room. He took a tentative step into the room, his footstep echoing ominously through the domed space.

And that was when he noticed the streak of red light barrelling towards him.

Lily huffed to herself as she angrily took the stairs to the Headmaster's Office two steps at a time. She had no idea _why_ the Headmaster had chosen to hold a meeting _exactly_ when she had wanted to keep an eye on the Defence Classroom, but she would be _very_ angry if Albus didn't have a great reason for calling on her.

She opened the mahogany door to Albus' office and entered the room, taking in all of the familiar sights – a newly reborn Fawkes perched on his stand, the bookshelves, the portraits of former Headmasters and Headmistresses, as well as the odd silver instrument bustling and chirping away behind a very radiant Albus Dumbledore, seated as his desk, and a sober-looking Minerva McGonagall.

"Hello," Lily said, panting, "Sorry, Albus, I had no idea we were having a staff meeting."

Albus nodded and gestured to a chair in front of his desk. Lily noticed that there were only three chairs – one of which was already occupied by Minerva. She took the chair in the middle, on Minerva's right, leaving an empty chair to _her_ right.

"I believe I owe _you_ an apology, Lily," Albus said lightly, "This is _not_ a staff meeting. I merely believed it prudent to hold an impromptu meeting in light of a… specific piece of information I have obtained from the Ministry."

Lily looked questioningly at the Headmaster, who merely smiled serenely at her.

"I was hoping a few more members – or perhaps it would be wise to call them ex-members – would turn up," Albus said, "Unfortunately, it seems the past decade and three years of peace have led to an… ease of comfort that several of us would rather not let go of."

"Alastor?" Minerva asked curiously.

"He is still at St. Mungo's," Albus replied, "And is, understandably, quite reluctant to accept an invitation to venture outside in light of his recent injuries. However, I am expecting one more member."

Lily was beginning to put the pieces together. "Member?" she asked. And then she gasped. "The Order? You're calling on the _Order_ again?" Lily glanced at Minerva.

"Not quite," Albus said in a reassuring tone, "However, I thought it best to touch base with as many members as I could get a hold of. Perhaps this is uncalled-for paranoia on the part of an old man who has seen far too much in his life, but – and I do not mean to be immodest here – my instinct has seldom led me astray so far, despite its admitted deterioration with age."

"Don't be ridiculous, Albus," Minerva huffed.

The door opened behind Lily to admit a dishevelled-looking Sirius Black. Lily stared at his tousled hair and ruffled clothes.

"Okay," Sirius said, plopping down beside her, "For once, it's _not_ what you think. This isn't a product of my life of debauchery – I had to collar this pickpocket who thought that the secret to great thieving is a pocket with a bottomless charm."

Lily snorted. "You put your hand into his pocket, didn't you?" she asked.

Sirius sighed. "Trust me," he said, shaking his head, "Going knuckle-deep into a bloke's pants isn't as great as it… er…"

Sirius finally seemed to realize that he was at a meeting with his former Transfiguration teacher and Headmaster, much to Lily's amusement.

"Okay," Sirius breathed, "Maybe we can continue this discussion later, hmm?"

"Oh no," Minerva said sarcastically, "I'm _very_ keen to find out just how productive your life in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement is."

"Dawlish still reluctant to take you in?" Lily asked.

"Yeah," Sirius said, "It's not so much my physical fitness as my mental readiness – they're still waiting for my Healer reports to clear before they admit me back into the Auror forces. Until then, it's DMLE duty for me.

"So," Sirius asked looking around, "This looks awfully familiar. What's the news?"

Albus crossed his fingers together on the desk and looked intently at the trio before him.

"I received a memo an hour ago from the Wizengamot," he declared, "Bellatrix Lestrange was found dead a week ago at Azkaban, though the Ministry is trying to keep it very, very quiet at the moment."

Lily gasped while Minerva and Sirius stared flatly at Albus.

"Sounds like grounds for a celebration," Sirius said dully, "Why is the Ministry trying to keep it quiet?"

Albus looked at Sirius for a moment.

"I do not know if you have tracked how well your release from Azkaban was received, Sirius," he said, "But your incarceration, trial and subsequent release were not without consequence. A significant portion of the wizarding public now believes that Azkaban does not fulfil its primary purpose as a correctional facility."

"They got that right," Sirius muttered.

"Indeed," Albus said, "And a _very_ significant portion of the Ministry – led by Amelia Bones – believes that Azkaban should be destroyed and a state-of-the-art correctional facility, with focus on prisoner rehabilitation, should be built in its place. And this movement to dismantle Azkaban coincides with _very_ low approval ratings for Minister Fudge."

"So Bellatrix Lestrange dying at Azkaban…" Minerva ventured.

"… Would be cause for serious concern and grounds for a debate in the Wizengamot about the state of Azkaban," Albus finished with a nod. "Nonetheless," he continued, "It is only a matter of time before this news leaks out. Unfortunately, the Ministry knows this as well and have taken great pains to ensure that the body was disposed of before the authorities in charge of the prison could be scrutinized too thoroughly."

"I still don't see the relevance," Sirius said harshly, "Cousin Bella is _dead_. Whoop-de-whoop, I still think it's grounds for a celebration."

"While I do not condone mindless approval of loss of life – however malevolent that life has been," Albus said, "I suppose the death of Bellatrix Lestrange _would_ be cause for relief for quite a few people. However, there is a… snag – the death of Bellatrix Lestrange happens to coincide with a host of disappearances, heightened trading in dark artefacts in Central Europe, attacks and… murders."

"Really?" Lily asked breathlessly. The First War on Voldemort may have felt like it was a fourteen years ago to the rest of the world, but for her, it was only a _year_ or so ago.

"I re-iterate," Albus said in a placating tone, "I might be acting a tad presumptuous here, but I shall highlight _two_ occurrences in particular for your benefit. The first of those curious occurrences has to do with an event we just discussed before Sirius was here – the attack on Alastor Moody."

"I heard about that," Sirius said immediately. He turned to Lily and Minerva. "Alastor Moody was attacked in his home by two perps – one male and the other female. Word in the department is that Mad-Eye was just taken by one of his paranoid fits – he raised a ruckus in his neighbourhood… his very _muggle_ neighbourhood, no less. I heard Arthur Weasley was called onto the scene, along with a couple of Obliviators, to set things straight."

"Yes," Albus said, "But what the intra-department memos failed to mention is that Alastor Moody actually recognized one of the suspects – Bellatrix Lestrange, a month _after_ her body was buried at Azkaban."

The room went very, _very_ quiet.

"Are you sure we can trust Alastor, Albus?" Minerva asked in a tight voice, "I _do_ respect the man, but over the years, he's grown unreasonably paranoid."

"I trust Alastor enough," Albus said firmly, "Enough, at the very least, to know that the man can distinguish between an accident caused by sheer paranoia and the genuine sighting of a _dead_ ex-criminal."

"Maybe it was Polyjuice," Sirius said, "Or… an Inferius. Or maybe Andromeda was just trying to surprise him and went overboard with the hair-dye."

"Perhaps," Albus said with a faint smile, "But I find all of those scenarios troubling all the same. Well… perhaps not that last one."

The room reflected on the incident for a moment. Eventually, Minerva tried to push the conversation further.

"Albus," the Head of Gryffindor House asked, "You mentioned _two_ events."

"Of course," the Headmaster said graciously, "The second event that I find so troubling is the mysterious death of a muggle gardener – Frank Bryce – in the sleepy little village of Little Hangleton. According to various news reports, as well as a _very_ well-classified report from the Department of Mysteries, Mr. Bryce was found dead under mysterious circumstances – there were no wounds on his body, no evidence of sudden organ failure, no creeping illness that made itself known at the last moment. The only thing of note was the frozen look of horror on his face."

"The Killing Curse?" Lily asked sharply.

"Indeed," Albus said, "But the most troubling fact of all is this: Mr. Bryce was the last known caretaker of Riddle Manor – the erstwhile residence of the very well-to-do Riddle Family."

"I've never heard of them," Sirius said, scratching his chin thoughtfully, "Were they purebloods?"

Albus shook his head. "Not purebloods, Sirius," he said, "They were muggles. Tom Riddle Senior, his wife and children were found dead under similar circumstances over fifty years ago. I have reason to believe that the perpetrator of _that_ crime – fifty years ago – was none other than Tom Riddle Senior's abandoned son – Tom Marvolo Riddle, a former student of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

Lily listened to Albus with growing horror; the name of the murderer was the last straw – she gasped. Minerva stiffened to her left.

Sirius looked at them, puzzled, and then turned back to Albus. "I don't see the significance," he said.

"Ah, yes," Albus said, "I understand. Sirius, were you made aware of the untoward incidents that occurred during Harry's second year at Hogwarts?"

Sirius shook his head.

"Well, they make for a very exciting adventure," Albus said, "However, Lily and Minerva recognize the name specifically _because_ of the events that occurred during Harry's second year at this school. Tom Marvolo Riddle is an anagram, Sirius – unwind the letters, unspool them, put them back together and they form a very chilling sentence: ' _I am Lord Voldemort_.' "

Sirius gasped. "Voldemort was a _student_?" he asked faintly, " _Here_?"

"Indeed," Albus said soberly, "And I have reason to believe that the murder of the Riddle family at their manor was the first of many perpetrated by a very young Lord Voldemort."

"But why would Voldemort kill his own father?" Lily asked, "Because he was a muggle?"

"Because his muggle father abandoned him," Albus replied, "Tom Riddle, Senior, abandoned his wife – Merope Gaunt, who was the last of a _very_ long line of purebloods – to wed another muggle. Perhaps the murder of his father's new family was an act of vengeance. Perhaps it was to bury his muggle heritage. We may never know, Lily."

Sirius suddenly barked out a laugh, startling the others in the room. "Sorry," he said quickly, "I just realized that Voldemort is a _half-blood_. Oh, my mother must be rolling in her grave."

"So," Lily said, ignoring Sirius, "You're saying this… Frank Bryce was murdered at the _very_ same manor where Lord Voldemort made his first kill? And that it was the work of a wizard?"

"Perhaps, _more_ than a wizard," Albus intoned, "Nonetheless, when questioned, quite a few people living in the village reported that they had sighted a dark-haired woman matching the description of Bellatrix Lestrange in the vicinity in the week leading up to the murder."

"Crap," Sirius said, after a moment's pause, "Okay, one sighting may be a coincidence. _Two_ , on the other hand… might just warrant an investigation."

"Of course," Albus said, "Perhaps this _is_ the work of a random dark wizard, or perhaps we're making a mountain of a molehill, or perhaps the woman the villagers described is merely a brunette woman touring the countryside. However, I believe we should all be aware of the possibility that the _worst_ may come to happen, despite our hopes for the best."

"Coupled with the events that happened three years ago…" Minerva suggested.

"That is, of course, a prime concern," Albus said.

"I heard about _that_ ," Sirius said, "Harry reported seeing a shade of Lord Voldemort?"

Albus nodded sharply. Lily reeled in her chair, trying to sort through the deluge of information she had just received.

"Is… " Lily asked, then took a deep breath to compose herself, "Is he going to come after us again? _If_... he's back?"

Albus stared into space for a moment, then looked at Lily with _very_ sober eyes with nary a twinkle in them.

"It is… a possibility," the venerable Headmaster confessed.

Harry rolled on the floor, arms pumping out as he uncurled so that his body rippled upwards to keep him on his feet. He whipped his wand out, deflecting the powerful crimson jet of light – a paralyzing curse of some sort – that Narcissa unleashed at him. Simultaneously, he took a step forward and unleashed a burst of magic from his own wand.

A stream of fire burst out at Narcissa, who extinguished it with a smile and a jet of water from her own wand.

"Trying to get me all hot and sweaty, Harry?" she taunted as she flicked her wand to bat aside his Stunning spell. Then, she clenched her left fist, pointed her wand at it and murmured something. Harry took the lull in her spell-casting to fire a couple more hexes, but they splashed harmlessly upon her, much to his dismay – the air around her seemed to be sizzling with magic.

Then, a halo of multi-coloured light burst forth from her fist, _each_ splash of light becoming a different spell, to Harry's horror. He swung his wand across the breadth of his body, conjuring several pieces of wood and simultaneously hurtling those outwards in desperation. Some of the spells Narcissa had summoned were blocked by the pieces of wood, others managed to avoid his burst and wound their way towards him, even as he leapt out of the way.

The world turned black for an instant as Harry crashed onto the floor. When he came to, however, he discovered that he had been disarmed and trussed up. _Again_.

"I'm _impressed_ , Harry," Narcissa breathed, "That was amazing instinct with the conjuration at the end. But then again, _popping_ wood isn't _quite_ the same as _using_ it."

Harry grit his teeth in desperation as he tried to break out of his bonds with wandless magic, but his control still seemed to be _far_ too rudimentary.

"This again, love?" Narcissa whispered softly as she closed in on him like a predator circling in for the kill, her every step a picture of almost _serpentine_ grace, "I've told you before – even the most powerful wizards would find it difficult to break out of magically conjured bonds without a wand."

"Doesn't stop me from trying," Harry grit out.

The ropes suddenly dissolved (though not on _his_ account) and became iron chains, binding him against the wall of the classroom in a spread-eagled pose. Narcissa pressed her _very_ feminine body, to Harry's consternation, against his, spreading her arms out and capturing his fingers in hers. Harry could feel the shape of her breasts – soft perky handfuls – against his chest, the feeling of her erect nipples pressing against him evident even through her robes (Narcissa had, at some point, divested him of _his_ robes – as a result, he had to fight _most_ of the duel in his boxers). And Harry discovered that his own underwear had long since tented up – his penis was now poking _upwards_ , its head well beyond the waistband of his boxers as Narcissa ground her clothed groin against him.

"What was the point of this detention?" Harry asked before he could be overwhelmed by the proverbial succubus grinding against him.

"I would think the… _point_ … should be _very_ evident by now, Harry," Narcissa said in her soft, seductive voice ( _so different from Lily's low-pitched, husky purrs_ , he realized), "Why do you think I'm here at Hogwarts, love?"

Harry _tried_ to ignore the familiar lilac scent, the familiar shape of her thin lips, and the memories of passionate, forbidden kisses during the lush summer months. "You can't be here for me alone," he declared.

Narcissa looked hurt for a fleeting instant, before the expression cleared. "You _might_ be right," she admitted in a measured voice, "But you are a _very_ prominent motivating factor, Harry."

She then pulled at his lower lip with her own lips, stretching it _delightfully_ , and nipping softly with her teeth, her hands roaming over his chest. "So… _strong_ , so… _manly_ , so… _good_ ," she moaned, pulling his nipples delicately, making him groan in arousal, his cock more erect than _ever_.

"Wait," Harry said firmly, "Before… we… before we do this, I need… I _want_ to ask you something."

"Ask away love," Narcissa said, before trailing soft kisses down his neck, "But ask fast, because I can't _wait_ to get started on this _delicious_ body. I'm going to _ruin_ you, Harry – I have a _lifetime's_ worth of frustration to work off, and the last week has been absolutely _devastating_."

Harry panted. "Did… did you know about the Diary? In my second year?" he asked.

Narcissa stopped kissing him and backed away abruptly, leaving Harry groaning in frustration, his penis nearly bursting out of his boxer shorts by itself.

The beautiful blonde seductress looked at him blankly for an instance, before she took a deep breath and held out her wand. "There are _several_ ways of swearing an oath in the wizarding world, Harry," Narcissa said solemnly, "This is only _one_ of those. An Unbreakable Vow, of course, is the most secure and binding, but it would need _three_ people to bind it; however, the spell I call upon now is almost as powerful.

"I, Narcissa Malfoy, nee Black, swear upon my _life_ , that I had no categorical knowledge of the scheme that my… _husband_ … perpetrated at Hogwarts." A burst of blue light issued from her wand, blinding Harry for an instant.

"I… see," Harry said. He had not failed to notice the disgust in her voice when she mentioned Lucius Malfoy. Then he sighed. "I believe you," he declared.

"Good," Narcissa said as her wand dropped onto the floor, along with her robes, "Because I might go _crazy_ if I don't get to feel that divine tongue on my… lady parts… tonight."

Harry's jaw dropped as he realized Narcissa was wearing absolutely _nothing_ underneath her robes – no corset, no lacy underwear… _nothing_. He was seeing her entirely naked for the first time. She looked absolutely _stunning_ – her trim figure glistening in the dim light of the room, perky breasts heaving with every breath, nipples absurdly erect and her shaved snatch peeking out between legs that seemed to go on forever. She looked like a model that he'd usually see on a Gladrags poster – only, _far_ better looking.

 _Lucius is such an idiot._

Narcissa stalked towards him and whipped his boxers down so that it slipped down his thighs, freeing his veiny cock.

"Oh _yes_ ," Narcissa exclaimed, her voice trembling with arousal, " _This_ is exactly what I want."

She went right back to trailing kisses down his neck, and then traced her lips softly down to his chest. Her tongue and her lips seemed to work in sync, lapping away in sinful harmony across his chest as she moved to his right nipple and sucked, _hard_. Harry grunted. He felt her smile against his chest, her teeth nipping every so softly on his nipple.

Then she abruptly sank onto the ground on her knees and _plunged_ her mouth down his length.

"Oh, holy _fuck_!" Harry groaned as Narcissa simply _speared_ his penis down her mouth and then, to his surprise and pleasure, _choked_ around it. And she just held herself in place, her cheeks drawing inwards as she sucked as hard as humanly possible with her hot, wet mouth wrapped around the first quarter of his penis, and her hands whipping back and forth along the lower three-fourths.

Before he could get into the spirit of Narcissa's enthusiastic, _heavenly_ sucking, she pulled off, leaving his penis throbbing and glazed with her saliva. And then she was up on her feet again, the same devilish smile on her face that he found so hard to resist.

And before he knew it, Narcissa was standing on her toes as she tugged at his cock with both hands, _pulling_ him forwards, the chains around his arms and legs creaking as they resisted her force. Harry felt a glorious mixture of pain and pleasure as his limbs stretched out, making him grunt, even as Narcissa tugged at his now-sensitive penis.

"So _fucking_ fat!" Narcissa purred delightedly, kneading and palpitating his girth, "Look at this thing!"

Harry merely moaned, closing his eyes, _trying_ to hold off as he felt his balls tingling. His penis pulsed, spewing pre-cum onto Narcissa's palms.

And then his eyes snapped open as he felt something _entirely_ new. The feeling of softy, silky-smooth _flesh_ – wet and _hot_ – against the tip of his cock. He gasped and jerked violently as he looked down.

Narcissa was holding his penis _right_ against her vagina, the spongy purpling head threatening to _split_ her trim cuntlips open.

"Oh _Morgana_ ," Narcissa moaned, "That is… that feels… oh _yes_ that feels _good_. Like it's going to _tear_ me wide open."

Harry's arms and legs were splayed out behind him as he _strained_ to push forward in vain – the chains Narcissa had transfigured seemed to be stretched to the very limit. He was now, completely and utterly, at the mercy of his blonde seductress.

Narcissa smirked. And then her eyes rolled up in pleasure as she sank down slowly, millimetre by millimetre, _savouring_ the feeling of his girth _slowly_ digging into her walls, prising them open deliciously.

And then, she paused after as his entire cockhead had _just_ about sunk into her spasming tunnel, and Harry growled in frustration.

"Oh _no_ , love," Narcissa moaned, "Not _today_. I want _that_ to be special – but this is a _taste_. A taste of all that you can savour to your _heart's_ content."

"You _fucking_ tease," Harry groaned.

Narcissa tittered and then gasped as Harry's cock _pulsed_ again, with its head throbbing _inside_ her snatch.

"Someday, Harry," she said, "You're going to beat _me_ in a duel, and then you'll have me at _your_ mercy. But until then, you're _mine_."

And then Narcissa _flicked_ his cock up, as it _splurched_ out of her vagina and _smashed_ against her clit. The blonde's eyes rolled up again in pleasure.

"That… feels _surprisingly_ good," Narcissa squealed in delight as if she had just discovered something amazing… and perhaps she _had_.

She wielded Harry's cock like a toy as she _slapped_ it against her clit, making wet _plopping_ sounds as his spit-glazed cock lashed against her bud, much to her delight. Harry grunted with each cockslap against her love button as he hung against the chains.

Then she was upon him once more, his cock wedged between her thighs, throbbing underneath her weeping cunt and poking out beyond the curve of her arse. Their lips met and they moaned into each other as Narcissa's breasts crushed against his lean, muscled chest yet again. The blonde reached out behind him and brought her palms crashing down on his buttocks as she _pulled_ him into her, his turgid meat grinding against her vagina in a deliciously rough manner.

"I _love_ your tight little butt," Narcissa moaned, "It's so _different_ from the rest of your body. The rest of you is so… _hard_ and _muscular_ … but _this_ …"

Narcissa's fingers _sank_ into his rear cheeks as she grinned in delight. " _This_ … is so _ripe_ and _peachy_. Just the right mixture of firmness and cushiness."

Harry grunted as she squeezed his butt even harder and moulded her body against his. Then, holding onto him, she started grinding herself back and forth, squeezing and massaging his cock, which was surrounded by her _amazing_ legs and _incredibly_ wet vagina, her lower lips dragging delightfully along his length.

Harry grinned, as his chains loosened a bit. He may be _bound_ , but he wasn't _down_. Not yet.

He started _moving_ , at a pace that was _far_ more rapid than Narcissa's grinding. Narcissa screamed in alarm and pleasure as Harry started _slamming_ his body against hers, her breasts mashing helplessly against him and his cock _plunging_ back and forth between her thighs, grinding her vagina into a steamy puddle of arousal.

"Oh… you're… such… an… evil… _fuckbunny_ ," Narcissa moaned, her voice trembling as she fought to regain control.

"I am, aren't I?" Harry asked rhetorically as he continued to slam his cock back and forth between her legs.

"You're… _ungh_ … _my_ … _ugh_ … fuckbunny, though," Narcissa panted, even as her vaginal walls began to spasm due to the sheer _pace_ of at Harry speared his girth _right_ against her clit. She was teetering on the edge, and she knew it, but she _wanted_ … _needed_ more than just this. With superhuman effort, she let go of her grip on Harry's buttcheeks and _pushed_ against him, managing to unspool herself _away_ from his inhumanly talented body.

Harry groaned in frustration, his cock _bobbing_ angrily, absolutely _soaked_ with her juices.

Narcissa managed to pick up her wand from where it had clattered to the floor, her legs trembling as she strove to keep herself from cumming. She pointed the wand at Harry, its aim unsteady. The boy hero felt a burst of magic envelope him and the space around him _rippled_. The walls and the floor seemed to blend seamlessly into each other as the chains binding him to the wall, somehow, _drifted_ onto the floor.

Now, he was splayed on the floor, the chains still holding him taut against the cold stone. Narcissa then dropped her wand and practically _leapt_ onto him. Before he could blink, he was greeted with the familiar, but _very_ welcome, sight of her vaginal lips _glistening_ with arousal; he had barely a moment to admire how her trim lips practically _clung_ to each other, her clit throbbing as it peeked out beneath its hood, before she lowered herself onto his lips. She had positioned herself so that she faced his lower body and his eyes were filled with the sight of her amazing arse – surprisingly perky and jiggling delightfully for so statuesque a woman. Harry's lips moved on autopilot, _kissing_ and massaging her vagina, even as his tongue snaked out and _plunged_ into her depths, curling and uncurling, lapping against the spots that she had found so _amazing_ the last time around.

She _soaked_ his face in arousal in under a minute as he reduced her to a quivering mess atop him. She _may_ have him bound, but he _still_ had control. That is, until Narcissa suddenly leaned forward and slapped her hands around his throbbing meat. Then, she started _tugging_ , _slapping_ her hands on his heavy balls and then _pulling_ up, as if she was trying to _tear_ his penis off.

"Trying to make me cum, huh, Harry? Cum all over your handsome little face? Cum into your thirsty, _naughty_ little mouth, soaking it with my ejaculate?" Narcissa gasped. Harry moaned a muffled reply into her cunt.

Harry reverted to Parseltongue before he _completely_ lost it. His tongue writhed, searching, vibrating and quivering, and then he groaned _just_ as he found that special cluster of nerves. Narcissa _screamed_ , her hands _yanking_ his penis up again as she came, _violently_. Bursts of feminine ejaculate _splashed_ into his mouth, _over_ and _over_ as Narcissa lost all semblance of self-control and yelled inarticulately, tugging at his penis helplessly.

And that last tug sent _him_ over the edge. His penis pulsed – _over_ and _over_ – and he grunted into Narcissa's leaking vagina as he came in heavy spurts all over her hands, which were still coiled around his girth.

Both he _and_ Narcissa collapsed at last, panting and moaning as they strove to come out of their orgasmic haze.

" _Goddess_ , I missed that," Narcissa moaned.

"I concur," Harry panted, his face _completely_ soakedwith Narcissa's cunt-juices.

"We're… going… to do that. Again. And _again_. And _again_ ," she said, her bosom heaving.

"Oh _hell_ yes," Harry murmured.

And then they both smiled.

 _This is going to be a hell of a year_ , he thought to himself.

Harry had barely made it out of the Defence classroom, before he was pounced upon by a flash of white feathers and sharp talons.

"Hedwig?" Harry asked. The bird alighted on his shoulder and held out a leg. Harry dutifully unwound the attached parchment.

 _Harry,_

 _Come to my office as soon as you're done with your detention._

 _\- L_

Harry sighed, patted Hedwig affectionately and allowed her to take off. He wondered if Lily had gone all the way to the Owlery to send him a message, or if Hedwig had approached Lily with that uncanny ability to anticipate _when_ someone wanted to send him a message.

Harry slowly made his way to his mother's office. Narcissa had done her best with the healing charms she knew, but his wrists and ankles still smarted – he could _still_ feel the weight of those ridiculous conjured chains.

 _One of these days_ , he thought, _I'm totally going to beat her_.

But Harry _had_ missed her – it had been just over a week since he had last seen Narcissa, but he truly missed her – her teasing remarks, her amazing grasp of magic, her ability to teach concepts to him effortlessly, her _unique_ teaching methods…

Harry stopped his flow of thoughts before he started sounding like a love-struck sop.

Harry rapped on Lily's door with his knuckles before he entered her office, smiling as she greeted him with concern _very_ evident on her awfully beautiful face.

"You look like _hell_ ," Lily said abruptly, rising from her seat and drawing up to him.

Harry noticed with a start that he was actually _slightly_ taller than Lily – he _had_ noticed that before, but it was a bit of a contrast from Narcissa, who, in turn, was slightly taller than _he_ was.

And then he cursed as he registered Lily's words – he was suddenly aware of how his hair was messier than ever and how his robes looked completely rumpled. He decided to let a bit of the truth out.

"She… duelled me," he said.

Lily's eyes grew wide. "She… _what_?" Lily screeched in alarm.

"She duelled me," he said quickly as he noticed how Lily looked ready to storm into Narcissa's quarters and curse her into oblivion, "But it was completely non-lethal. I just got a bit roughed up."

"A bit roughed up?" Lily asked, her voice still high-pitched, "Harry, are you _insane_? What business does she have _duelling_ with you?"

"She _is_ teaching Defence against the Dark Arts," Harry reminded her, and then added, "And I did learn a bit from the duel."

Lily closed her eyes, pursed her lips and took a deep, calming breath. Eventually, she muttered, "I shall be having… a _word_ … with that… _woman_.

"Now, _sit_ ," Lily said, indicating a very plush sofa that had not been at the office when Harry had visited it earlier.

Harry sank down on the chair and groaned softly as he noticed just how comfortable the seat was. And started as a soft weight settled on his lap. He looked up and then relaxed as he saw that it was Lily who had sat down on his lap, facing him, her green eyes blazing with passion.

"Did the bitch hurt you?" Lily asked softly, her hands cradling his face.

"Not really," Harry said, "I did lose the duel though."

Lily smiled. "Well, I'm going to try and help you _forget_ that," she said, "I'm in need of a bit of stress relief anyway."

"Oh?" Harry asked.

"Yeah," Lily said, "But let's talk about _that_ later. For now, I'm afraid I'm just going to have to _use_ you. And you may feel free to use _me_ in return."

"Oh?" Harry asked, gulping as he thanked all the nameless entities that watched over him for reminding him to use a cleansing charm to get rid of Narcissa's scent.

"Oh _yes_ ," Lily said, reminding him _very_ uncomfortably of Narcissa. And then the red-haired beauty closed in, her lips against his. Her tongue rammed its way between his lips, even as he encircled her waist in his arms and pressed her into him.

Lily managed to, somehow, point her wand at him and cast a spell. Harry muffled a started yelp against Lily's lips as his robes vanished, yet again, leaving him, mercifully in his t-shirt and sweatpants over his boxers this time around – Narcissa had simply vanished _everything_ apart from his underwear. Lily then traced a hand _down_ his clothed chest and stomach and _plunged_ it into his pants, pushing them down and drawing out his…

"Oh _fuck_ ," Harry gasped as Lily pulled off him and gazed down eagerly. _Oh crap_ , he thought, as his penis was unsheathed, again, and he felt Lily's hands coil around it for the _first_ time. _That_ _was abrupt_.

Lily grinned. "I've wanted to do this _forever_ ," she squealed, her voice surprisingly _young_.

"Forever?" Harry asked through gritted teeth as Lily twined both her hands around his girth and simply _squeezed_. Her grip was _far_ more firm than Narcissa's soft touches.

"I _might_ have spied on you once when you jerked this… _thing_ off," Lily said, her husky voice _bursting_ with eagerness.

"Oh," Harry said simply, his penis _throbbing_ with anticipation. He winced as he suddenly realized how sensitive his cock was – it was still a bit _too_ soon after his last orgasm.

"It's so… _hefty_ ," Lily squealed, as her hands, slowly and deliberately, started jacking him off, her palms massaging his meat delightfully as she stroked him from base to tip, "My fingers don't even _meet_ each other around it!"

"Uh huh," Harry grunted as Lily started going _faster_ and faster. Soon, her fist was _crashing_ into his balls and then _flashing_ back to his head in the space of a second.

For a moment, his mind flashed back to the memory of Narcissa and him in the Defence classroom, before he shut the image down ruthlessly. After an instant – an instant filled with the feeling of Lily's small hands on his rippling cockmeat - he realized _why_ his brain had chosen to show him that image; it _wasn't_ because Lily lacked for skill compared to Narcissa – Lily was doing _great_. It was because _he_ was being a bit _too_ passive compared to his time with Narcissa, and that was just uncalled for.

So Harry took matters into his own hands, so to speak. He noticed that Lily herself was wearing an attire similar to his own, so he mimicked Lily's earlier action and plunged his own hand into _her_ pants. Lily's eyes widened as his fingers _curled_ upwards, slithering under her, searching for its prey. And then he found it. He _flicked_ at his target and Lily gasped as she felt his rough hands manhandling her clit.

"Holy _shit_ , Harry!" she groaned her hands _pulling_ at his penis.

Harry just grunted and continued massaging, poking and prodding - listening intently to Lily's moans to see how she responded, and then adjusting his technique at once.

"Oh, _yes_!" Lily squealed, biting at his chin desperately as her breasts rubbed against him delightedly. Harry moved his _other_ hand – his left – up at once and cupped a heavy, albeit clothed, breast in one hand, weighing it with delight.

"You like Mommy's breast in your hand, baby?" Lily panted in his year, "You _like_ that, you naughty little _slut_?"

Harry gaped and his penis twitched in Lily's hands at her _immensely_ dirty words – he _had_ realized they were doing something taboo before, but they had always skirted around it. Now, though, he seemed to have flipped a switch and Lily was _pouncing_ on the taboo nature of their relationship with relish, _teasing_ him with the knowledge of bounds that he had long since left behind in his quest for erotic satisfaction. Or perhaps _he_ was the victim and _she_ was the one that had smashed down all societal barriers in an attempt to quench her _own_ thirst for sex.

Either way, he didn't quite _care_. He palmed her heaving breast and squeezed it, gasping at the dual sensation of his fingers sinking into her _immense_ tit, as well as her palms _mauling_ away at his cockmeat.

"You love mummy's hands on your big, _fat_ cock, don't you?" Lily growled, " _Don't you_?"

"Yes, oh _hell_ yes," Harry groaned. He _plunged_ his forefinger and middle finger into her snatch, which was _incredibly_ wet at this point. He swirled them around, trying to _push_ his impending orgasm away by sheer force of will, searching _for_ that same spot – that same bundle that his tongue had sought out in Narcissa.

And eventually, he found it – it was a _little_ further in, compared to Narcissa. Lily… his hot, dirty, slutty _mother_ … moaned in delight and squirmed on his hand, _fucking_ herself onto his fingers, even as her hands whipped across his length. Harry started _slamming_ his fingers forward, _pulling_ and _pushing_ Lily back and forth on his lap by his grip on her snatch. He pulled, _very_ roughly at her clothed nipple, and Lily twitched frantically.

Then she screamed. And grew very, _very_ still.

 _This is different_ , Harry thought as he approached dangerously close to his own edge.

"Oh _fuck_ you're… oh… you're… oh _fuck_ … you're making _Mommy CUM!_ " Lily screamed again as her vagina seemed to _explode_ around his fingers. She squirted one, long, continuous _burst_ of female ejaculate, staining his fingers with her juices and her hands moved on autopilot as they continued to jack him off.

The sight of his own _mother_ , squirming on his lap, her vagina spasming _inside_ her pants with his fingers embedded _deep_ in her cunt, her beautiful green eyes looking heavenwards and her lush red lips parted in ecstasy – the sight, combined with Lily's insistent tugging set _him_ off and he spurted all over the redhead's t-shirt, staining her clothed breasts with his _own_ ejaculate.

Lily collapsed against him, his hand still on her throbbing cunt and his cock still twitching between them. She buried her face in his chest.

"Oh, _boy_ , did I need that," she sighed.

They lay like that for a while, with Harry stroking Lily's crimson hair with smooth, slow strokes. Then suddenly, Lily stiffened on his lap and drew back with a start. She slammed her left arm against his chest, pinning him against the backrest, as her other arm entwined in his hair and drew his face upwards so that he could stare her in the eye as she drew herself up onto her knees.

"Lily?" Harry gasped at the sudden movement.

"You've done that _before_ ," Lily snarled.

 _Crap_ , Harry cursed mentally.

"You've done _that_ before," Lily growled again, "Who?"

"Does it matter?" Harry asked weakly as he reached for his wand. Then he stopped himself as he realized he would never _want_ to raise his wand against _Lily_ , of all people.

"Fine," Lily said, her voice still low and dangerous, "I don't care _who_ it was. What's in the past is in the past – I don't _care_ if you messed around at the Quidditch Finals, or _who_ you messed around with. What I _do_ care about, is if that _pathetic_ little fling is _over_ now."

Harry didn't trust himself to speak. He stared into Lily's eyes, now blazing with ferocity, threatening to incinerate him with a glance.

"Yes," Harry gasped, hoping against hope that his blatant lie was convincing, at the very least.

" _Good_ ," Lily whispered, and then leaned in, "But if I _do_ find out you're _still_ seeing some little girl – and I don't _care_ if it's Cho Chang or some _other_ little _slut_ – I'm going to make that bitch _pay_."

Harry gulped.

"But don't worry, Harry," Lily crooned, "Nothing will happen to you. But I'm _not_ letting _you_ go."

He relaxed. Lily leaned in and rested her head on his chest again, breathing softly against him.

Harry felt like a cad as he trudged back to the Gryffindor Common Room, hoping that he could finish the day's homework before he went to bed – every second sentence he uttered to Lily, or Narcissa, seemed to be either a white lie, or an obfuscation of the truth. It was almost… _stifling_.

Granted, he _did_ enjoy their company – and the _activities_ they engaged in were _incredible_ – but he had no idea _what_ he was doing all the same. Was he just fooling around with them? But if he _was_ just fooling around, why was he so emotionally involved in the relationships?

The questions buzzing around his mind were not easy to tackle, so he simply compartmentalized them and focused on the _rest_ of the day. Lily, at the end of their little… session… and right before bidding him adieu, had asked him to present himself at her office over the weekend.

"I've found that I'm lagging a bit behind in the duelling arts, Harry," Lily had said casually – _too_ casually, "So, I thought we could train together. And obviously, we're both free on the weekends."

But why train with _him_? Had something happened? Why had Lily been so stressed out in the first place?

And then there was Narcissa – the woman was a mystery wrapped inside an enigma. She had been honest enough to tell him that her presence at Hogwarts _did_ have an ulterior motive that did not involve him. So why was _she_ here? Why had Lucius pulled strings to get Narcissa into Hogwarts?

Also, he still had no idea _why_ she was drawn to him. Granted, she _had_ confessed to seducing him because he appealed to her over the summer and that what should have been a short fling had turned into something far more substantial – but he wasn't convinced. She _was_ a Slytherin, after all – and he sensed that Lily was right in at least one respect about Narcissa – the woman never did anything without some sort of purpose or calculated motive driving her.

Harry rounded the corner of the corridor that led to the Fat Lady's portrait.

 _I guess my very peaceful third year was an anomaly after all_ , he thought, _Looks like this year is going to be the most eventful of them all. And I'm not sure that's a good thing at all._

 _But then again_ , a more adventurous part of his mind whispered, _it might be a great thing for your libido_.

Harry snickered to himself.

"What're _you_ laughing about?" asked a curious male voice as he drew close to the portrait.

Harry winced. Narcissa would have his _hide_ for not maintaining his 'field awareness' at all times. He looked up at Ron, who had apparently been waiting for him outside the portrait.

"Whoops," Harry said awkwardly, "I forgot all about dropping our names into the Cup."

Ron shrugged. "It's alright," he said with a grin, "We have five minutes to go for curfew. Reckon we can make it to the Great Hall and back?"

Harry grinned right back and nodded. For a fleeting moment, as he and Ron took off along the maze of corridors and staircases that led down to the Great Hall, he felt… _normal_. And his worries, his thoughts… they all faded away as he effortlessly overtook Ron in their race to reach the Goblet of Fire.


	8. Champion

Champion

Harry took a deep, calming breath, like he did before every duel where he had an opportunity to relax before the fighting commenced. Lily Potter stood opposite him, albeit at some distance from him, in a large classroom that, according to Lily, had once been a chamber used for a discontinued duelling class. The broken benches and surprisingly sturdy wooden table that had once stood undisturbed in the unused room had now been arrayed against the walls so as to clear a large space in the centre.

"You've done this before, I hope," Lily said mildly.

"I'd hope so too," Harry said, grinning, as he turned his body sideways to face her, so as to present as less of a profile as possible for the opening spell.

"Good," Lily murmured. She then waved her wand in an intricate motion, away from Harry, and large golden letters appeared on the wall to his right. The letters, at present, read "3."

"The countdown," Lily said graciously.

"Show-off," Harry retorted cheekily. Lily merely grinned back.

The timer began to count down. Harry tensed up, his wand at the ready – he usually waited for the other person to cast first, seeing as how he felt he was _still_ a novice to this sort of thing. Lily's stance was entirely unconventional, compared to Narcissa; she seemed to be crouched, like a sprinter, her wand already shimmering with uncast magic.

And then, as the timer went changed from "1" to "GO!", Lily _exploded_ into motion. An enormous blue _wave_ of magic burst forth from her wand, and Harry felt his hair stand on end as the wave approached him. He cast a quick _Protego_ , hoping against hope that the shield held.

Much to his relief, the blue wave splashed harmlessly upon his shield. Harry slammed his wand down, casting a Stunner at Lily, but to his utter surprise, she had long since vacated her spot. A burst of purple light surged towards him from his 3'o clock position and Harry was forced to jump _forwards_ to avoid it. He gaped as he realized that Lily was actually _sprinting_ around the room, and towards _him_ , like a lioness closing in for the kill.

Harry realized, as he managed to deflect a powerful spell and then ducked under another, that he had gotten way too used to Narcissa's style of duelling – where his opponent stood rooted to the spot and used her powerful grasp of advanced magic to overwhelm him. Lily, on the other hand, was _far_ more aggressive – Harry backed away as Lily, not ten feet away from him now, sent out a flare of white light at him, bursting outwards in a narrow arc, which barely missed him.

He decided, heart pounding at the sight of the fierce redhead closing in for the proverbial kill, that in this particular case, retreat was the better part of valour. So he started sprinting clockwise around the room, away from Lily, but it was far too late. Lily had already closed in. Harry frantically spun on the spot towards her, whipping out his wand, but grunted as he felt a foot stab into his stomach, leaving him wheezing. Her fist came crashing down onto him, but he managed to block it in time with his wand arm. She spun on the spot and crouched, kicking his legs out from under him. He tumbled onto the floor, but used the momentum of his fall to roll, avoiding a spell from her wand.

 _Bombarda_ , Harry thought desperately, jabbing his wand out, while reining in his magic so that the spell wouldn't achieve its full effect, and the space between them _exploded_ , shoving him a few feet back and giving him space he desperately needed.

As the dust cleared, he noticed that Lily had long since swerved to the side, avoiding his blast. His spell, however, seemed to have blown the edge off a desk – something he hadn't quite intended.

"Goodness!" Lily said, staring at the desk.

"Sorry," Harry panted right back.

"Don't apologize!" Lily said, as she brought her wand back to bear, "This is _great_!"

 _Oh crap_ , Harry thought as Lily sent what appeared to be a swirling spiral of light at him, which he managed to break with a hasty jinx – he had no idea what that spell had been, but he was acting on sheer instinct at this point.

Lily waved her wand again and Harry hastily conjured a shield, but he saw nothing issue forth from her wand. He frowned and used the break in her casting to launch several rapid-fire jinxes at Lily, who smiled and conjured what seemed to be a large wooden… _battering ram_.

"Holy shit!" Harry yelled as the enormous cylindrical ram barrelled towards him, taking all of his jinxes in stride and still managing to maintain its forward speed. He rolled aside and then _pushed_ outward with his wand, casting an _Impedimenta_ jinx. The wand's momentum slowed and he bought himself enough time to step to the side just as the ram pushed past him. He smashed his fist into the ram, casting a spell simultaneously and _pushing_ outward yet again.

The ram ricocheted back, as if thrown by a giant. Lily's eyes widened, but she smoothly stepped to the side to avoid the log and it smashed into the wall behind her. She then surged forwards again, moving right at Harry and conjured a flock of live birds that swooped down on him.

He tried to run away, but his limbs were feeling weaker with every passing instant. He wearily conjured bluebell flames, and the birds screeched as they caught on fire. Lily, however, surged _right_ through his fire, completely unscathed, with a faint smile on her face. She lashed out with her left, simultaneously bringing her wand to bear upon him. Harry _tried_ to block both with his own hands, but he only managed to parry her wand-arm, which shot a jinx past his left ear. Her left fist _slammed_ into his stomach, leaving him completely winded.

His limbs felt like lead now and the world was beginning to blur. Surely, Harry thought, he hadn't been punished _that_ badly. His eyes felt heavy and he just wanted to go to sleep.

Lily kicked out at him and he fell to the floor, which felt _very_ comfortable. If he could _only_ rest for a bit… just sleep… just…

When he came to, _thankfully_ , he seemed to be lying prone on the ground, and curled up.

"You look _adorable_ when you sleep," Lily said fondly from somewhere above him.

Harry looked up blearily and the world burst into focus again. He had been disarmed, and Lily stood towering over his prone body, twirling his wand in her hand with a smirk.

"Looks like you beat me," Harry said as he straightened his body, still lying on the ground, and ran a hand through his hair.

"I'm pretty damn impressed, in any case. Your skills _far_ outmatch your peers'," Lily said, "And don't get up – the charm takes a while to wear off. It isn't like a Stunning Spell or a Body-Bind."

Harry, who had begun to push himself up, paused, shrugged and lay back down.

"Charm?" he asked, puzzled, staring up at Lily, "What charm?"

Lily just smiled at him serenely. Harry wracked his brain and tried to recollect the details of the duel – and realized that his weariness towards the end of the duel had not been due to a lack of stamina; it had been magically induced. Then, he remembered Lily casting something that did _not_ manifest as a visible spell during the duel, immediately after she had sent that swirling spiral of light at him.

"You cast a _charm_ during the duel," Harry said, awestruck, "Like… a Sleeping Spell?"

"Something like that," Lily said, laughing.

"I… wow," Harry said, getting up gingerly, and holding out his hand for his wand, which Lily promptly handed back to him, "I wasn't really watching for more obscure charms there."

Lily shook her head. "Charms are very, _very_ powerful, Harry," she said, "But not in terms of the end effect so much as in _how_ they operate."

"I don't follow," Harry said, idly dusting down his pants.

"Think about it, Harry," Lily said, "What inherent advantage do Charms have when cast upon a living opponent? Don't think in terms of the effect they have on the opponent; think, rather, in terms of _how_ the caster goes about ensuring the charm hits its desired target."

Harry realized what Lily was getting at. "Charms aren't visible," he said at last.

Lily nodded with an approving smile. "Yup," she said, "Charms aren't _visible_ to the human eye because they don't operate in the same manner as a jinx, or most _other_ spells. There's no lightshow, and no conjuration that springs out from thin air."

"Like your battering ram," Harry interrupted.

Lily flushed a bit. "I _might_ have gone a bit overboard there," she admitted.

Harry took a deep, shuddering breath. "You think?" he asked sarcastically.

"Says the man who cast a _Bombarda_ at me," Lily countered.

"So," Harry asked quickly, "Why don't charms show themselves in the same way as other spells?"

"Because," Lily replied, "Charms, and for that matter some curses, don't really _commandeer_ the nexus."

"Commandeer?" Harry asked.

"When a witch, or a wizard, casts a spell, the spell doesn't come from _within_ her… or him," Lily explained, "Magic-users merely have an _affinity_ – and that affinity is still not very well-understood – for the Nexus, which ultimately, is the source of all magic. Take away the Nexus, and as you very well know, you take away _magic_ itself.

"When casting most spells, what magic-users _really_ do is _channel_ the Nexus through their wands to achieve a certain effect. Which is akin to commandeering the Nexus and moulding it to form _something_. And the Nexus, when it's absorbed and channelled by magic-users, through a wand for instance, becomes _visible_ – it's basically magic manifesting itself as a _spell_ , and the spell makes itself known by means of a light-show or a conjuration."

"And charms?" Harry prompted.

"When a magic-user casts a charm, she does not commandeer the Nexus; rather, she causes a perturbation _in_ the Nexus. Think about it this way, when I cast the Stunning Spell – which is a jinx, by the way, for all practical purposes – I'm basically dealing with _just_ the Nexus. I'm channelling it through my wand to achieve a red burst of light, which, when it lands on a living entity, forces its biological process to halt.

"On the other hand, when I cast a charm – like a Cheering Charm, for instance – I'm basically _asking_ the Nexus to affect _you_ in turn."

Harry rubbed on his lips thoughtfully with his thumb. "I think I get it," he said, "Sort of reminds me of an experiment I saw in primary school."

"Oh?" Lily asked.

"Yeah, it was called the Pendulum Wave," Harry said, "They basically held five pendulums right against each other. When you pull the first pendulum and let it slam into the row of pendulums, only the _last_ pendulum in the row swings forward."

"Exactly!" Lily said excitedly, "That's an _excellent_ analogy. A charm is basically a disturbance _in_ the Nexus that subtly manifests itself _only_ on the desired target. Which gives them an inherent advantage, in the sense that your opponent cannot _see_ the charm take shape and charge towards him. He can only _feel_ the charm after it's been cast."

"I see," Harry said slowly.

"However," Lily added, "If your opponent has an encyclopaedic knowledge of charms, he, or she, can probably figure out that you're casting a charm from your wand movements."

Harry nodded.

"Anyway," Lily said, "I'm _very_ impressed by your performance in the ring, Harry. The way you stopped my… uh… ram… and threw it back was amazing – you're throwing around a _lot_ of power. You seem to have a… unprecedented… affinity for magic, and I do not make that claim lightly."

"I guess," Harry said with a shrug.

Lily's eyes glinted. She paced away from him and then turned, raising her wand. The timer glowed again, setting itself to "3".

Harry palmed his face, and then sighed. He raised his own wand.

"Go again?" she asked.

Harry grit his teeth and nodded.

Three days later, as he ate breakfast in the Great Hall, Harry was beginning to realize that _both_ the women he was tangling with could beat him handily in a duel, and that might _not_ be such a good thing. While one tended to bandy about intricate spells and obscure curses as she danced in place, taking him down with the sheer _artistry_ of her spell-casting, the other tended to use powerful spells and didn't hesitate to close in (and the sight of Lily charging towards him as she unleashed spell after spell was downright _scary_ , when Harry came to think of it) and sully herself with physical blows, while still managing to sneak in subtly cast charms that brought him to his knees. Granted, they were _both_ bombshells, which was all well and good… until they found out about each other.

Harry squirmed guiltily as he ate his toast and then looked around, hoping to distract himself with something else.

And for once, the universe obliged. The routine swarm of owls rushed into the hall, dropping off mail and other oddities. A copy of _The Daily Prophet_ landed on Hermione's lap, who promptly paid her owl and opened up the newspaper delicately.

"Oh," Hermione said mildly, "Apparently, a Death Eater was found dead at Azkaban."

Next to Harry, Neville laughed as Ron tried to shovel a spoonful of pudding into his mouth and missed completely, owing to Ginny nudging him at _just_ the right moment. The pudding promptly splattered onto his face.

"Yeah," Ron said morosely as Neville continued to laugh, "Great going, Gin-Gin."

Ginny giggled.

Harry smiled, and then, registering that Hermione was glaring at everyone for their lack of interest in what she was reciting from the paper, asked, "Er… a Death Eater? Like, a follower of Voldemort?"

Seamus, who was chatting away with Dean to his right, flinched violently. Ginny and Neville winced. Ron missed his next spoonful as well, and it added to the splatter on his face.

" _Harry_!" he whined.

Everyone seemed to recover immediately and laughed, again.

"Yes," Hermione said primly, "And according to what I've read, _this_ particular Death Eater was the most powerful, and fanatical follower of the Dark Lord."

Neville abruptly stopped laughing and stared at Hermione, his face draining of all colour. Ginny stopped giggling and glanced at Neville in concern.

"What…," Neville asked in a trembling voice, "What's the name?"

"Of the Death Eater that died?" Hermione asked, looking down at the paper. She smoothed the paper and turned it around to face Harry, and Neville to Harry's left. "Bellatrix," Hermione said, "Bellatrix Lestrange."

"Whoa," Ginny and Ron said at once.

"I've heard of her," Ron added, but was quickly shushed by a concerned-looking Ginny, who was staring at Neville.

Neville had gone completely white. His hands trembled as he reached for the paper and pulled it towards him. He read through the article, his eyes roving wildly from side to side across the page. He then dropped his spoon with a clatter and got up abruptly. Without looking at any of them, with his hands still shaking, he quietly left the Great Hall.

"What was _that_?" Ron whispered. Hermione and Ginny shrugged.

Harry, on the other hand, took up the paper and skimmed through the article. The first three paragraphs were dedicated to the mysterious death of the former Death Eater, apparently by self-mutilation. The Ministry was then chastised for not even bothering to look into the death or conducting a post-mortem examination; apparently, the officials in charge of Azkaban exhumed the body immediately.

"This reporter's pretty harsh on the Ministry," Harry observed.

"It's a Rita Skeeter article, Harry," Hermione said, as if that explained everything.

Harry looked up at her curiously.

"Skeeter's a total _hag_ ," Ron said in a low voice, "She _loves_ screwing over the Ministry for no reason at all. Her article about my Dad – he had some business with an ex-auror a couple of weeks ago – had Mom ranting for _days_."

"She does seem to have some legitimate ground to stand on in this case," Harry countered. He moved onto the last paragraph of the article and gasped.

"… _Bellatrix Lestrange," the article read, "Most notorious for her torture of Alice and Frank Longbottom into insanity, her death might not spur the same amount of indignation towards the concept of Azkaban as the release of Sirius Black (curiously, the first cousin of Bellatrix Lestrange, nee Black), but the Ministry can expect to face a lot of flak for their pathetic attempt to cover up the death, in any event."_

"What?" Ron asked Harry.

He merely turned the paper back towards Hermione and pointed to the offending paragraph. Ron and Ginny leaned in from either side to read the article as well.

"Merlin," Ron gasped, "I had no idea Neville's parents had been… tortured like that. You think they're still…?"

The gangly redhead made a vague gesture, but Harry got the hint. He shrugged. "No idea," he replied, "But no wonder Neville's upset by all this."

"He's probably glad she's dead," Hermione whispered, "But it must be quite a shock to have it mentioned so casually in the papers."

Harry nodded. "We should probably give him a bit of space for now," he said, "But we should all go cheer him up later. Maybe before our first lesson…?"

"It's Charms, Harry," Hermione said, shaking her head in frustration, "I can't believe you don't memorize your class schedule!"

"You mean other people _do_ that?" Harry retorted with a grin.

Hermione huffed and stared at him for a moment. Then, after an instant, Hermione's eyes lit up and they both burst into laughter.

Borgin grumbled to himself as he began to sweep the far corner of his shop with slow, lazy strokes of his cleaning brush. He could have charmed the broom, but he had to keep up appearances; it was mid-day, and customers usually chose this particular moment to enter his shop, often with ridiculous demands and expectations.

Borgin could usually slot his customers into one of three types. The first kind of customer was the Nervous Ninny. This sort of customer entered the shop with a nervous tick – they knew they weren't supposed to be there, and yet ventured in because they _needed_ to, by choice or by circumstance. They would fumble about with their money, cast frequent glances at the people milling about outside and titter nervously. They were _sheep_ – sheep ripe for the swindling; he could safely push his prices unreasonably high when a Nervous Ninny entered his office and they would still purchase whatever they had come to his shop for.

The second kind of customer was the Pureblood Dandy. This sort of customer was usually a pureblood, or _acted_ like one, entered the shop like they _owned_ it and pretended to know absolutely everything about the artefacts he stocked. At the end of the day though, they were absolute tightwads – a necessary evil for a businessman in his position. Unfortunately for Borgin, the Pureblood Dandy was the most common customer that patronized his shop – he had to make like an obsequious toady when they were around, and the bargaining usually gave him a headache afterwards.

The third kind of customer was the _Fucking_ Fencer. Borgin's tolerance level for this sort of customer was very, _very_ low; they came in all shapes and sizes, hoping to sell off dark artefacts that they had stolen from someone, or wanted to get rid of before they were raided by the Ministry. But they _never_ wanted to buy a thing – they just wanted to take _his_ money for a service he was performing for _them_ : hiding their dirty laundry. These were the sort of customers that Borgin took the _greatest_ pleasure in fleecing.

Of course, a long time ago, there had been a _fourth_ kind of customer – the sort that made him wish he hadn't opened his shop at all that day – but that sort of customer had been made irrelevant by the end of the last war.

The sound of a chime signalled that the door to his shop had opened. Borgin wearily set the broom aside and trundled up to his usual spot.

"Hey, look at me!" chirped a very high-pitched female voice that sent a shiver up his spine. The voice continued in a sing-song tone, " _I'm bargin' into Borgin, I'm lurkin' at Burke's, I'm lookin' for some lootin', I'm wearin' a Mark_!"

Borgin stopped breathing for an instant and the shop seemed to reel as he stood in place. Suddenly, his entire world seemed to slip out from under him, leaving him cold and floundering in the dark.

He turned around, trembling uncontrollably, and his breath hitched as his eyes fell upon a hooded woman, followed by a tall hooded man.

"That song," he panted, backing away from the duo, even as his artefacts began to vibrate in place, "No, no, no, it can't be… I… I…"

The woman dropped her hood. Borgin's jaw dropped as he looked upon the terrible visage of Bellatrix Lestrange. The same heavy head of black hair, the same heavy-lidded eyes, the same tan skin. But what clinched the deal were the cold grey eyes – no other pair of eyes could hold the same amount of sheer… _evil_ … as was present in _her_ eyes. They virtually shone with the sort of insanity that was a _choice_ rather than an affliction.

"Long time, no see, Todgy-Podgy Borgin!" she sang.

Borgin tried to breathe deeply, but even his _lungs_ seemed to be reluctant to draw air in the woman's presence.

"You're… you're supposed to be dead," he rasped.

" _Lady Death, Lady Death_!" Bellatrix shrieked. Then she closed in on Borgin, her face _inches_ away from his. He dimly registered that the skull-like visage he remembered from the papers after her incarceration had changed significantly – she looked far healthier, and more like the schoolgirl who had visited his shop a long time ago on her father's behalf.

"Like what you see, Borgin?" she whispered, her voice trembling with what could only be construed as irrational _delight_.

Borgin shook his head frantically. Bellatrix extended a long, dainty forefinger towards him and bopped him on the nose, biting her lip. Then she pouted.

"Awww, poor widdle Borgin," she said with a sneer, "Don't worry, widdle one, I'm here on business. Not… _pleasure_." She traced her forefinger down his nose as she said the last word and then backed away. Borgin breathed a sigh of relief.

"I… I have not strayed from the cause…" Borgin ventured, but he was cut off, this time by Bellatrix's hooded accomplice, who was still hovering near the door.

"We're not here to question your devotion, Borgin," the man said coolly. Borgin frowned – the voice seemed _very_ familiar. "We're here _for_ something."

"Anything," Borgin gasped. Then, during the uncomfortable pause that followed, he blurted, "Is… is _he_ back?"

Bellatrix whipped around and slammed her arm outwards, not even _bothering_ to draw her wand. Magic seemed to burst outward from her _palm_ as Borgin rose into the air and slammed into the wall, as if he was strung upon invisible ropes.

"Don't you _dare_ ask about Him with that _filthy_ tongue!" Bellatrix screeched. The air around her sizzled with the sheer amount of _power_ coiling around her. "Don't you _dare_! Don't you _dare_ ask about Him! DON'T YOU _DARE_!"

If he had any doubts before about the woman's identity, they were all gone now. There were _very_ few witches and wizards who could command _this_ sort of power.

"I won't, I _won't_!" Borgin pleaded frantically as his oily hair whipped around his face and every single thing in his shop began to vibrate with the _force_ of Bellatrix's rage, "Please…"

Bellatrix sniffed. The magic subsided and Borgin collapsed to the floor in a heap.

"Now that that particular bit of drama is over," the man said coldly, advancing upon Borgin, "Perhaps we can move onto other topics, hm?"

"I… I just don't want any trouble," Borgin said, his voice hoarse, "You can take whatever you want from my shop. _Anything_!"

The man continued nonchalantly, "We're not interested in what you have for _sale_ , fool. We're here for an asset of a… different nature – information. About someone."

"Who?" Borgin asked.

"A goblin, actually," the man said mildly.

"I don't know many goblins," Borgin confessed, "Perhaps you should go to Gringotts?"

Bellatrix leaned casually against a desk and cackled. "So quick to confess!" she exclaimed, "Todgy-Podgy _Borgin_!"

The shopkeeper shuddered.

"I have a feeling you know _exactly_ who we're talking about, Borgin," the hooded man said in a low voice, "And you're going to tell us _all_ you know about him."

Borgin took a deep, shuddering breath, and exhaled.

"Look, I just… I do that sort of thing on the side… making people… disappear when they want to disappear," Borgin said quickly, "But I'm still just the middleman. I don't _actually_ forge anything – I just direct these individuals to specific quarters where they can… carve out a new identity for themselves."

"Of course," the man said graciously, "The goblin was one of these… customers, I suppose."

"Yes," Borgin said, "I… er… directed him to a Bulgarian gentleman who was _desperate_ to lend his flat to… someone."

"What was this goblin running from?" the man asked curiously.

"Same old, same old," Borgin said, "Fudged his accounts at Gringotts and the management caught wind of it. So he fled."

"And came to you," the man said. "But where did he _go_?"

"To Bulgaria," Borgin replied, "The gentleman I mentioned? His flat was in Sofia – this goblin you're after… I told him he could lay low for a while there."

"I… see," the man said. He turned to Bellatrix and gestured to the door out of Borgin's shop. The shopkeeper sagged against the wall in relief. "Shall we?" the man asked, addressing Bellatrix.

Bellatrix nodded sharply, pulled her hood up and turned to leave.

"Why… why are you after this goblin?" Borgin asked. He then cursed himself for his curiosity as the two looked at each other, and spun in unison to face him.

"This goblin was the caretaker of Vault 713," the man said mildly. "Does that mean anything to you?"

Borgin shook his head slowly.

"Good," the man said. Bellatrix whipped her wand out before Borgin could react and murmured, "Obliviate."

As the flash of light from Bellatrix wand sped towards him, the last thought Borgin had before he was lost to blissful ignorance was how much he _hated_ the _fourth_ kind of customer.

Two months into their first semester, on the thirtieth of October, Harry packed away his books after the last class of the day – Defence against the Dark Arts – and reflected on the past couple of months. School had kept him _very_ busy for the past few weeks. He had been with Narcissa and Lily several times after their respective first encounters at Hogwarts– but they hadn't really gone beyond handjobs, in Lily's case, and blowjobs, in Narcissa's case. There was a bit of grinding involved with Narcissa as well, but she never let him go beyond an _inch_ into her quivering vagina… just enough for his cockhead to bask in the wet heat of her gloriously tight snatch – and that drove Harry crazy with both pleasure and aroused frustration. Also, unfortunately for his libido - which seemed to be way too overactive, given his penchant for multiple orgasms (he often had an 'encounter' with Lily soon after Narcissa assigned him a 'detention' for one reason or another) - but perhaps fortunately for his sanity, they had to be _very_ quick with their _activities_ , beset as they all were with work and classes to teach.

Nonetheless, Harry had learned a _lot_ in terms of _spells_ – especially with respect to wizarding duels. He had yet to beat either Narcissa or Lily, but he could hold his own for quite a while, except for the odd match where he lost his focus and they beat him handily.

"I have to admit," Hermione confided, startling Harry out of his reverie, "She might be Malfoy's mother, and all that, but she's… in all honesty… the best Defence teacher we've ever had." The girl then inclined her head towards Narcissa, who was clearing up the teacher's table.

"Oi!" Ron whispered hotly, facing them and then looking over his shoulder at Narcissa, who was talking to a couple of Ravenclaws that had approached her desk after class, "Don't _say_ that!"

"Lupin was pretty good," said Dean Thomas, who had been sitting next to Ron and was clearing up his own desk.

Hermione frowned thoughtfully. "I suppose he was," Hermione said hesitantly, "I guess it's just that what Professor _Malfoy_ is teaching us seems so much more interesting than dealing with hinkypunks and grindylows."

"She knows her stuff," Harry admitted.

"And I have no idea what her personal opinion on pureblood rights is," Hermione added, ignoring Ron's spluttering, "But she's surprisingly _fair_. And she even answers every single one of my questions with a smile!"

"Traitors," Ron muttered darkly, "Traitors, the lot of you."

Dean chuckled.

"Oh, shut up, Ron," Hermione said.

"There's also the minor fact that she's a bloody _looker_ ," Seamus interjected, walking up to Dean.

Dean nodded fervently. "Cor," he said, "Totally _dishy_. One of the three best-looking teachers in the school."

"Oh yeah," Seamus said with a thoughtful frown, "She belongs right up there with Sinistra and Po… er…"

Seamus seemed to realize Harry was standing right in front of him. The Irish boy trailed off and Dean snickered, much to Harry's bemusement and Hermione's disgust.

Ron opened his mouth to protest, but then seemed to think better of it. "I… guess I have to agree with you guys," he declared.

Harry looked at Ron with raised eyebrows.

"Erm," Ron said quickly, "I mean, I agree with them about Malfoy's mum being hot, not about your mom being a looker… not that your mom's a minger or all that… er… I'm not doing too well, am I?"

Dean _and_ Seamus snickered this time around.

"Pigs!" Hermione whispered furiously, "I'm talking to a bunch of pigs. The lot of you are _disgusting_."

"What?" Dean retorted, "You don't think she's totally hot?"

"She's a _Professor_ ," Hermione murmured, "And yes, I _do_ think she's beautiful, but…"

"Aha!" Seamus exclaimed, pointing at Hermione triumphantly.

"Oh _honestly_ ," Hermione muttered.

"Traitors, the lot of you," Ron grumbled again, "She's still a _Slytherin_ and a _Malfoy_."

Hermione huffed. She then glanced at the desk and her eyes lit up as she noticed that the Ravenclaws had left. She patted down her hair lightly and approached Narcissa's desk meekly, pulling Harry along with her. Ron just gaped at the lot of them, while Dean and Seamus looked on in amusement.

"What're you doing?" he whispered furiously, clutching onto Harry's _other_ arm and staying rooted to the spot, "We don't have time to waste! We're supposed to assemble downstairs for the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang arrival!"

"Oh, let _go_ , Ron!" Hermione retorted, pulling Harry along even more furiously, making the messy-haired boy _very_ uncomfortable as he became an unwilling rope in the tug of war between his friends, "I just want to ask her a question!"

"So why are you taking _Harry_ along?" Ron asked back.

"Because I want _company_!" Hermione snarled.

"Uh… guys…" Harry said. Dean and Seamus started laughing.

"So do I!" Ron said.

"Guys," Harry said in a warning voice, and grunted as his friends pulled him in opposite directions.

"What?" they both asked in unison, facing him.

"She's coming to _us_ ," Harry said, jerking his head towards Narcissa, who had begun to walk towards them, her lips curved upwards in an amused smile as she took in the sight of Harry being tugged in either direction by his friends.

Hermione made an "eep" sound and let go of Harry's hand immediately. Ron followed suit as well, his ears flushing in inimitable Weasley fashion, and Dean bopped him on the head.

"May I help you?" Narcissa asked, her eyes glimmering with amusement.

"Professor," Hermione said breathlessly, "I was just wondering if I could trouble you with a question."

Ron gagged. Narcissa smiled. "And here I thought you had exhausted all ability to form an interrogative sentence during class, Miss Granger," she said.

Hermione flushed. Narcissa laughed – a high, tinkling peal of amusement that never failed to send a pleasant shudder or two down Harry's spine – and said, "I'm joking, Miss Granger," she said, "But I'm afraid we're cutting it a bit close, aren't we?"

Hermione's face fell.

"But," Narcissa consoled her, "I'm sure we can work out an appointment for you; how does tomorrow at seven sound?"

Hermione perked up again. "Yes, Professor," she said eagerly, to Ron's continuing dismay.

"And you may all feel free to tag along," she said, looking across their little group.

Hermione looked at Harry with pleading eyes, while Ron glared at him.

"I…" Harry said looking between his friends, "Sure, Professor. Thank you."

Hermione beamed. Ron looked like he wanted to burn a hole through Harry.

Narcissa cleared her throat. She then gestured to the practice dummies they had been using during class to practice their aim with specific jinxes.

"I was wondering if one of you would be kind enough to volunteer to help clean up the classroom," Narcissa said.

Hermione looked like she wanted to say yes, but was obviously not confident enough to stay with Narcissa all by herself. Ron looked like he would rather go sit on a pike. Dean and Seamus looked completely uncertain.

"Sure," Harry said at last, "I'll help."

Hermione and Ron looked highly alarmed at that. "Uh… we'll wait outside?" Hermione asked.

"No need," Narcissa said firmly, "I'll escort Mister Potter back to the assembly outside the Great Hall myself."

The remaining four students looked back and forth among themselves. Harry waved his hand at them and nodded confidently. They nodded back and made their way out of the classroom.

Narcissa's wand was out as soon as the door shut behind them; she pointed it at the door and cast what looked like a warding spell. She then _pounced_ on Harry and kissed him fiercely.

Harry clutched her around the waist and sighed in pleasure as her _amazing_ lips landed on his. They muffled their pleasured moans in each other's mouths. Narcissa's hands landed on his arse again as she kneaded him to her heart's content. Harry himself was no slouch – he ground his crotch against hers as he palmed _her_ backside, which was delightfully soft and bouncy.

"Okay, enough," said Narcissa, drawing her lips away from his, her face flushed with arousal.

And then she kissed him again. Harry just grinned against her lips and _pushed_ his tongue into her mouth, _plundering_ it like a marauding invader and she moaned in reply.

Then, she pushed him back, tearing out of his grasp. Her bosom heaved as she drew in deep, calming breaths.

"Really, _enough_ ," she said, but she seemed to be talking more to herself than Harry.

Harry grinned.

"Okay," she said, pointing an accusing finger at him, "You're _intoxicating_. But I was being genuine when I said that I wanted some help cleaning up the room."

Harry shrugged and glanced at her with a roguish smile. "Well, you _kissed_ me," he reminded her.

"Oh shut up and help me clean up the room," Narcissa muttered, throwing a filthy, but amused and aroused, look his way. Harry laughed and obliged, pushing at the dummies with his magic so that they lined up against the circular wall on one side. Narcissa waved her wand; the desk and chairs drifted to the centre of the classroom again and aligned themselves.

"So," Narcissa asked, "I presume you submitted your name for consideration?"

"For the tournament?" Harry asked. Then he shrugged and nodded. "Yeah," he said.

He looked at Narcissa, who hummed to herself as she adjusted the motion of the chairs so that they lined themselves up perfectly in front of their respective desks.

"So," he asked, mimicking her earlier question, "You… er… rooting for Mal… Draco?"

Narcissa gave him a flat look. "Of course I am," she said warmly, "He _is_ my _son_ , love."

"Of course," Harry said quickly and turned away.

"But I have to admit, as much as I dote on Draco," Narcissa said, to Harry's consternation, "He stands a very slim chance of being selected."

"Oh?"

"While most of the charms and spells that went into forging that goblet have long since been lost to time, most experts agree that the Goblet selects contestants on the basis of their _affinity_ for influencing the Nexus. So, basically, only the most powerful wizards – or the wizards with the potential _for_ power – get selected."

"Oh," Harry said. He sighed in relief, mixed with a bit of disappointment – that meant the Goblet would most likely select a Sixth or Seventh year student, given their ability and power.

He looked up, only to see that Narcissa had closed the distance between them and was nodding at his work in approval.

"I'm done," he said.

"So am I," Narcissa responded. She then leaned in and whispered into his ear, "And by the way, I'm _also_ rooting for you."

She drew back, her golden locks brushing his face ever so softly and her fingers caressing his cheeks, turned on the spot and left the room with Harry in tow, his cheeks still burning with the touch of her skin on his.

Harry looked at his watch – a brand new runic contraption that Lily had bought for him over summer and realized that he had a long way to go for breakfast. Which meant he could jog a bit more than he had intended, again.

What had started out as an activity that could help him be more attractive to Narcissa had now become a habit to Harry. On weekdays, he usually got up early in the morning to do some exercises – jogging and a few body-weight sets. Moreover, Harry found that he actually liked jogging on the Hogwarts grounds; granted, the countryside did offer a bit more variety in terms of terrain, which made jogging more challenging, but the sheer beauty took his breath away. And even the creatures that flitted about as he jogged – fairies, bowtruckles, flobberworms… and he had even seen a hippogriff once – were so fantastic and surreal.

Thinking about hippogriffs made him feel a bit sorry for Hagrid. Hagrid had come really close to losing his post as Professor for Care of Magical Creatures - thanks to Malfoy's oafish behavior with a hippogriff that resulted in the beast mauling the blonde idiot - but Dumbledore managed to exercise his considerable influence to keep the Board from laying off Hagrid. Nonetheless, the hippogriff, named Buckbeak, had been sentenced to death.

However, Harry, Hermione and Ron, as was their wont, had interfered and saved Hagrid – they freed Buckbeak after the executioner had arrived and made it look as if the hippogriff freed itself. Of course, the executioner was very disappointed and Dumbledore seemed to know about their role in freeing Buckbeak, but Hagrid remained as cluelessly happy as ever. Harry wondered how Buckbeak was - he hoped the beast was happy wandering about in the Forbidden Forest.

And he berated himself for not visiting Hagrid this term – it was an error he would have to correct soon.

He was distracted from his thoughts at the sight of a very serene Luna Lovegood walking across the grounds as he jogged back to the castle.

"Hey, Luna!" Harry called out, panting, "Where are you off to this fine morning?"

Luna looked at him and smiled, her eyes staring off into space as usual. "Hello, Harry," she said, her voice almost musical in tone, "I'm going to meet Firenze."

"Firenze?" Harry asked, "The centaur? You know him?"

"Yes," Luna said, walking across to the edge of the Forbidden Forest, with a very curious Harry keeping pace, "I like talking to Firenze; centaurs have so many things to talk about."

"So many things?" Harry echoed, nonplussed, "You mean, apart from the stars and planets?"

Luna looked over at him. "But there are so _many_ stars and planets, Harry," she said.

"I suppose," he admitted. Then he asked, "Would Firenze mind if I tagged along?"

"Centaurs don't mind talking to people at all, Harry," she said, "Unless they're infected by Nargles. You're not infected by Nargles, are you?"

"Er… no," he said quickly. He then turned to Luna and asked, "What did you think of the arrival ceremony last night?"

"I liked the Durmstrang ship," Luna replied, "But Beauxbatons had those _beautiful_ Abraxan horses."

"Yeah," Harry said, "Hagrid must love taking care of those. Anyway, did you see Viktor Krum? I don't think anyone had any idea he was still a student."

"I don't follow Quidditch," Luna confessed, "But Ronald seems _very_ excited."

Harry laughed. "And so are most girls at Hogwarts," he said.

They walked along in silence for a while, before Luna started humming a very familiar tune.

"Hey," he said as he recognized the tune, "That's… that song, isn't it? That song by… Dela… Dela… something."

"Dawn of Magic by Apolline Delacour," Luna said with a slow nod, "I really like that song. It's one of my most enduring memories from childhood."

"Oh?"

"My mother sang that song to me every night," she said.

"Oh, right. Yeah, my mom seems to really like that song too," Harry said. He grinned. "Must be a seventies thing," he said.

Then he looked at Luna closely. "Luna," he said after a pause, "You haven't really mentioned your mother before…"

"She died when I was nine," Luna said, her voice as serene as ever, "She was a very clever witch – one of the best arithmancers in the country. Experimented with charms, you see. One day, her experiment went very wrong. And I did not see her again."

Harry's breath hitched. "Luna," he said seriously, "I'm _really_ sorry."

"That's alright, Harry," she said, "It was a long time ago."

She then pointed at the Forest, looming ever closer as they walked towards it. "There he is," she said, pointing at a distant silhouette.

As they drew closer, the sun cast enough light for Harry to make out the broad upper torso of a human being that blended seamlessly with the body of a palomino horse.

"Luna Lovegood," the centaur said in a deep voice, his sapphire eyes glinting in the light of dawn, "And you've brought Harry Potter with you. It's been a long time, Mister Potter."

"Hello, Firenze," she said. Harry nodded at the centaur.

"I have brought you what you asked me for, child," the centaur said, handing Luna a bag, "This weed grows in abundance in the centre of the forest."

Harry looked at Luna inquisitively as she thanked the centaur.

"It's a variant of bubotuber," Luna explained, looking at him, "I'm working on a Potions project with Professor Potter."

"Oh," Harry said, "I had no idea. You must really like Potions."

"I do. Hermione's working on the same project as well," Luna informed him, "Along with a couple of NEWT students. Professor Potter asked me if I could secure this _particular_ ingredient, and I asked Firenze for help."

Harry turned to Firenze. "We… bumped into each other when this young one was wandering aimlessly through the forest in her first year – she had no idea it was called the Forbidden Forest for a _reason_ ," the centaur explained, "I escorted her back to the castle and informed the Headmaster, who chastised her appropriately. We have since become friends."

"I see," Harry said. He had no idea what else to say – his forays into the Forbidden Forest were never voluntary. _And how the hell does one become friends with an adult centaur anyway?_

"Harry and I were just talking about this song – _The Dawn of Magic_ ," Luna said, addressing the centaur, "Have you heard of it?"

Firenze looked up at the sky. "I like songs," he said wistfully, "The herd sings few songs, but I like them all the same. But I do not know many human songs."

He then looked at Luna. "How does the song go, child?" he asked.

Luna sang in a soft, melodic voice:

" _Baseborn, forged in flame,_

 _Bloodied, on shores of yonder sea,_

 _Careworn, amid leafy glades,_

 _Entombed, he shall know peace._

 _Fire, ocean, earth and bone,_

' _Ere magic rests to atone."_

Firenze smiled at Luna. "That is a _beautiful_ tune," he said, "But that is no song. It is a _prophecy_."

Both Luna and Harry looked at Firenze curiously.

"A prophecy that made itself known even _as_ magic was gifted unto this world," Firenze said, "A prophecy as old as _magic_ itself. We centaurs know it well – we have our own version of the prophecy. _Carreg-nei, Thuihen mithrin_ , the prophecy is called in our tongue. It would translate to – _Stone of low birth, forged in flame_."

" _Baseborn, forged in flame_ ," Harry said. He then scratched his chin. "I had no idea the song was referring to a… stone?"

"Among _many_ other things," Firenze replied looking up at the sky.

The centaur then turned to Harry, sapphire eyes virtually _boring_ into him. "You," he said, pointing a muscular forearm at Harry, "You, of all people should know this, Mister Potter."

On that mysterious note, the centaur turned his back to them and galloped off into the depths of the forest once more.

"I'm telling you guys," Ron hissed as Harry sat down for breakfast after a quick shower, "There's something _about_ that girl!"

Hermione rolled her eyes and looked at Luna, who merely stared right back. The blonde Ravenclaw tended to sit at their table more often as the semester went on.

"You guys still talking about the _bouillabaisse_ girl?" Harry asked them.

"No," Ginny said firmly, "Just Ron."

"Oh, take a look around," Ron hissed. He jerked a thumb up along the table. They all looked at a trio of Seventh Years at the Ravenclaw table, who were practically drooling as they stared at the girl opposite them.

"Oh for the love of…" Ginny said.

"She _is_ very pretty though," Luna admitted.

"Pretty?" Ron asked incredulously, " _Pretty_? Luna, Harry's _owl_ is pretty. That Beauxbatons bird, though, is absolutely _beyond_ beautiful."

"Hedwig would feel very insulted, I'm sure," Harry chortled.

"Don't _you_ think she's beautiful?" Ron asked him.

Ginny glared at Harry as he fidgeted nervously in his seat. Luckily, Hermione saved him.

" _Fine_ ," Hermione said abruptly, "She's _very_ beautiful. Now stop eyeing her up like she's a piece of meat, you oaf. She's a woman, and she has a _name_."

"Oh yeah?" Ron challenged, "Do _you_ know her name?"

"Fleur Delacour," Hermione said imperiously. Ron goggled at her.

"How'd you hear about it?" Ron asked desperately.

Hermione flushed. "I pay _attention_ , Ron," she said quickly.

Ginny looked at Hermione shrewdly. "You asked around, didn't you?" she asked.

"Maybe," Hermione defended.

Ginny giggled. Luna, on the other hand, nodded sympathetically. "To be fair, I'd want to find out too," she said. Ginny giggled harder, while Hermione looked at Luna, nonplussed.

Harry had _no_ idea what that was about.

"So," Ron asked, looking equally bewildered, "You guys have any idea how that Goblet chooses the best student from each school?"

"Apparently," Harry said, "The goblet's secrets have been lost to time, but most people think it uses some sort of advanced magic to figure out the _potential_ each candidate has, and then selects the candidate with the most potential for power."

"It's a bit more technical than that," Hermione interjected, "The goblet is believed to measure…"

"The ability of a magic-user to influence the Nexus," Harry completed. Hermione looked at him in surprise.

" _You've read 'A Comprehensive History of the Schools of Magical Europe'?" she asked curiously._

"Uh… no," Harry said, "I was just repeating something I heard from someone."

"From who?" Hermione persisted.

Harry fumbled for an answer, but it turned out the rest of the table wasn't very interested anyway.

"How do you reckon the tasks will be set up?" Ron asked eagerly.

"One of them is going to have a giant chessboard for sure," Ginny replied.

"Really?" Ron asked eagerly. He then caught Ginny's grin and waggled a finger at her. "You're having me on, aren't you?"

Ginny smirked.

"Apparently," Hermione continued, still looking curiously at Harry, "The three tasks are usually structured so that the first two tasks only influence the winner's standing in the _third_ task – at least that's the way they've been set up for the last one hundred tournaments."

"What does that mean?" Ron asked.

"Basically," Hermione explained, looking at all of them in turn, "The first two tasks are point-based. The best participant in each task is the one who gets the highest number of points. The points are then tallied after the first two tasks are over. The _third_ task is where the _real_ winner is determined. Participants with higher points usually receive an advantage in the third task, but that's it. Whoever wins the third task wins the tournament."

"So, a person can score low in the first two tasks, win the third task and still take the trophy home?" Ginny asked.

"Yes," Hermione said, "Although, it's usually the highest scorer in the first two tasks that goes on to win the third task… and the tournament, because of that advantage I mentioned."

"So a points advantage in the first two tasks translates to some sort of magical assistance in the third task?" Harry asked.

Hermione nodded.

"Holy _hell_ she's _hot_ ," Ron said suddenly. Harry glanced at Ron and sighed. He looked around, only to see the blonde girl – Fleur Delacour – exit the Great Hall, her lustrous hair swinging behind her in an enticing manner.

"Okay, I guess she's _really_ beautiful," Harry said casually, turning back around. His words then froze in his mouth as he saw none other than Lily Potter standing behind Ron.

A very _annoyed_ Lily Potter who was glaring at him with pursed lips.

"Uh, I was just… that is… Ron… And then I… and then she… er…" Harry stammered and trailed off.

Lily raised an eyebrow at him, huffed irritably, and walked away briskly, her heels clicking _hard_ against the stone floor. Ron tried and failed to look apologetic, even as the girls around him burst into laughter. Including _Luna_.

Harry knew he was going to pay for that later.

Harry panted as he reached the Great Hall and sat down on a seat Hermione had been kind enough to save for him.

"Thanks," he replied as he took the seat.

"At this point, I'd be surprised if you turn up on time for _any_ event at Hogwarts," Hermione said, sniffing.

"Yeah," Ron said curiously, "You've been late for the Sorting, for the Arrival Ceremony and now the Champions' Selection."

"Mom needed my help with moving a few cauldrons," Harry said quickly. And then he flushed as he remembered _exactly_ what had transpired in the office.

" _Oh so you think she's hot, huh?" Lily asked with gritted teeth as she practically tugged at his cock, her small hands somehow managing to feel up every inch of his penis as she whipped them back and forth along his length. Her fingers were incredibly cold, and she had applied some sort of lubricant to them; her hands made an incredible schlicking sound as they sped along his meatstick._

" _Lily!" Harry grunted as he tried to ignore the incredible slapping sound her hands made as they smacked onto his swinging balls each time she jerked down, even as she pumped him for all he was worth._

 _She kissed him, silencing him with her lips; her tongue wriggled inside and tangled with his own in a pleasurable dance that made him even more aroused. His fingers worked overtime inside her wet pussy as he pumped his hand back and forth, churning her insides as fast as he could._

" _You… little… motherfucker," Lily gasped, pulling off him. She flicked her thumb along the eye of his penis as they pumped up his length and Harry groaned._

" _Oh, you… agh… like that, huh? DON'T YOU?" she said, her voice rising in pitch as her vaginal walls started undulating around his fingers, signalling the beginning of her orgasm._

" _I do," Harry panted, "But apparently, so do you, Lily."_

" _Fuck… uh… you," Lily snarled. Her body grew still, and her vaginal walls vibrated._

 _And then, with an inarticulate scream, a powerful jet of her cunt-juice shot out in a continuous stream. Lily's eyes rolled up and she arched her back as she came right around his fingers, splattering both his hand and the desk she was leaning against. Harry plunged his face between her clothed breasts and moaned as he felt the soft swell of her amazing tits cradle his face on either side._

 _As Lily shuddered and spasmed around the fingers of his right hand, which was now lazily pumping up and down, drawing out her orgasm, Harry felt his balls tingling once more as Lily's hands stopped pumping and just squeezed on his spongy shaft._

" _Uh, I apologize for this in advance," Harry murmured._

" _Wh… uh… What?" Lily panted, still grinding her snatch onto his hand. Her squirting had petered out to a small trickle at this point; Harry continued to marvel at yet another difference he had discovered between Lily and Narcissa – his mother seemed to squirt in one long, continuous burst of ejaculate, while the latter splashed her juices all over the place in spurts._

 _Harry seized Lily's hands, which were completely still on his cock. He then closed his fists around her knuckles, so that she squeezed even harder on his penis. Then, holding her fists in place, he jacked himself off, rapidly shoving his cock in and out of her hands._

" _You… naughty… little…" she gasped._

 _Harry pumped his cock back and forth, using Lily's hands as a fleshlight. His testicles pulsed and his cock spewed a torrent of semen all over Lily's dress, yet again._

" _Sorry," he panted, after his shaft finally stopped spewing cum after the sixth spurt, "But I sort of had to get myself off. And your hands are so fucking amazing."_

 _Lily looked down in resignation at her dress. "What… the hell… do you… eat?" she asked, bewildered, "You always go off like a garden hose."_

 _Harry shrugged and panted as he leaned back into the wall._

 _Lily giggled and shook his softening penis around, sending droplets of sperm all over the place. Harry gasped, "Still sensitive!"_

" _That'll teach you not to look at other girls," Lily snapped, and then giggled again at the sight of his fat cock flopping around._

" _I… wasn't…" Harry gritted out and then thought better of it. "Yeah," he agreed with a grin, "That'll sure teach me."_

"So," Harry asked quickly, "Has the goblet selected anyone yet?"

"Nah," Ron replied, "It's been glowing blue for a while now; we're all waiting for it to turn red and spit out a name."

As if on cue, the flames hovering over the goblet turned red, just as a very flustered, but tidy-looking, Lily Potter snuck onto the Head Table and sat on her designated chair. Harry resisted the urge to wince as McGonagall glanced at Lily with a raised eyebrow.

Luckily, the goblet chose that moment to spit out a piece of parchment. All eyes were now riveted on the ancient magical artefact.

Albus Dumbledore, who was standing next to the goblet, seized the parchment with his right hand. He then smoothed the piece of paper and read, "The champion for Durmstrang, is Viktor Krum!"

"Hell yes!" Ron roared as the entire school, including the contingent of Durmstrang students, applauded Krum's selection and several girls squealed at once. Harry, who had practically missed the entire Quidditch final, had still managed to catch the Seeker in action in a quarter-final match he had gone to with Ron and Sirius during their summer camp. Harry knew Krum was practically untouchable in the air, though the goblet seemed to think him a potent wizard on the ground as well. Unless the tournament allowed broomsticks, of course.

Krum stepped up from the Slytherin table and trudged over to the Headmaster without so much as a smile on his face. Krum was graciously directed to a small room aft of the Great Hall that Harry had never seen before, much to his surprise.

The goblet's flames were still reddish in hue. It spat out yet another piece of parchment.

"The champion for Beauxbatons," Dumbledore read, and the applause stopped abruptly, "Fleur Delacour!"

"It's _bouillabaisse_ girl, Ron!" Harry said, indicating the beautiful French girl who had asked for leftover _bouillabaisse_ from their table on the night of the Arrival Ceremony, much to Ron's utter befuddlement. The applause for Fleur was much more sedate, though some of the male students couldn't resist hooting as the beautiful girl sauntered past them.

Harry noticed how both the contestants selected so far were final-year students – the goblet was matching up to his expectations; it was obviously selecting the most powerful student in each school. Beauxbatons and Durmstrang had only brought a handful of their lower years anyway – most students in their contingent were aged sixteen and above.

He almost felt sorry for Ron, who had stiffened in his chair and appeared to be hyperventilating – Harry knew Ron wished for the goblet to spit out his own name, given his vision in the Mirror of Erised in their first year. Personally, Harry thought Ron's older brothers – Fred or George, who were waiting with bated breath, their faces practically glowing with anticipation – stood a far better chance of being selected, seeing as how they were Sixth Years.

The goblet hissed and spat out yet another parchment. The flames atop the goblet died down and the lights in the hall compensated on cue, brightening up the room considerably.

Dumbledore smiled as he looked down at the parchment. Most of the Hogwarts students tensed.

"The champion for Hogwarts," the venerable Headmaster proclaimed, "Harry Potter!"

 _Wait, what?_

Harry reeled and the entire room blurred. His table burst into raucous applause – which sounded incredibly dull to his ears – along with the non-Gryffindor students, who clapped more sedately. Dimly, he registered that not _one_ person from Slytherin had burst into applause – instead, they seemed to be booing as loudly as they could.

He gaped up at the Head table – Narcissa had a faint smile on her face, while Lily was beaming openly and beckoning to him. Harry stood numbly and, pushed forward by Hermione, walked up to the Headmaster, who in turn pointed at the room to the end of the Hall.

Harry walked right up to said room, stared at the oaken door for a moment, before he opened it and stepped into a surprisingly cosy space.

The two other champions stood near a fire burning in an alcove within the room, looking pretty impressive silhouetted against the bright flame.

Fleur turned towards him expectantly. And Harry noticed, not for the first time, how stunning the girl really was.

"Well?" she asked, "Do zey need us back out? Where is ze Hogwarts champion?"

" _He_ is champion," Viktor grunted, jerking his head at Harry.

"Zis is ze Hogwarts champion?" Fleur asked incredulously, pointing at him. Harry felt a faint swell of indignation. "Zis leetle boy?" she asked.

Harry grit his teeth, but said nothing. It would probably come back to bite him later anyway.

"He is not some boy. It is _him_ ," Viktor said, pointing to his forehead. Harry quickly moved his fringe of hair to the left of his forehead, but Fleur saw his scar anyway.

"Ah," she said with dawning comprehension, " _Le Survivant_."

Harry winced.

Fleur sniffed. "I am not impressed," she said, her tone unexpectedly harsh for a girl with so melodious a voice, "I can only 'ope he makes for a… worthwhile competitor."

It was as if he wasn't even in the bloody _room_.

"Hogwarts and Beauxbatons have history of excellent rivalry," Fleur continued, much to Harry's annoyance – he was surprised at the idea that so beautiful a girl could have such a hostile presence. "Our schools 'ave taken 'ome ze prize most often."

Krum grunted, "Durmstrang has von too," he said.

"We shall see," Fleur said, casting a disdainful look at Harry.

Harry palmed his face. "Pleased to make your acquaintances too," he said sarcastically and turned away resolutely. The door to the room banged open to admit quite a few people, including the Heads of the three schools, McGonagall and two other gentlemen who he was told would be part of the panel of judges for the tournament.

Harry sighed. Just as he thought this school year would be relatively free of drama, the universe seemed to take great pleasure in throwing a monkey wrench or two his way.

 _But then again, a snide, sarcastic part of his mind whispered, you can't really blame the universe this time around. After all, you forged most of those monkey wrenches yourself, genius._


	9. Interlude: Conversations with Lily

Interlude: Conversations with Lily

 _1978_

" _Lily," Mrs Evans entreated, her brow furrowed in consternation, "I'm not entirely sure you understand, or are even willing to imbibe and reflect upon, the wisdom that I seek to impart."_

" _Oh, mum, please!" Lily cried, utterly frustrated with her mother's patronizing._

" _It's not a question of love, darling," Mrs Evans said, "It's a question of will."_

" _What?" Lily asked._

" _You forget that your love for James Potter is barely a year old," Mrs Evans reminded her._

" _A year is way more than enough for me to tell if I love a man, mum," Lily scoffed._

" _You're being carried away…" Mrs Evans started._

" _No!" Lily cried indignantly, "Don't you dare accuse James of using some weird, twisted, magic to enslave me to his will. Nothing of the sort ever happened…"_

 _Mrs Evans, nonplussed, interrupted her daughter mid-tirade, "I never accused the man of doing anything of the sort, Lily."_

" _Petunia did," Lily pointed out._

" _I'm not Petunia," Mrs Evans said, "And I'm not your father either."_

" _Dad approves," Lily said at once, latching onto the lifeline her mother had inadvertently dangled in front of her, "He doesn't mind."_

" _Because he's a romantic, and believes in all that such rapid-fire romance entails," Mrs Evans said, "Lily, I speak from experience, rather than from the midst of a storm of hormones and youthful exuberance. You're not talking about a steady relationship anymore, Lily… you're holding conversations about marriage, for the love of all that is good and holy."_

" _That's just it, mum," Lily entreated, "I love James. I love, love, love him and – you will forgive this cliché – I cannot see myself living without him. He proposed, and I accepted – it's as simple as that."_

" _Not quite," Mrs Evans started, but Lily interrupted._

" _What?" the younger redhead asked hotly, "What do you think James lacks that makes him less than an ideal husband for your daughter?"_

" _It's not a question of what he's lacking," Mrs Evans explained with an indulgent smile, "Nor is it, like I said earlier, a question of love, Lily. Consider this – you dated another boy… a Quidditch Beater, if I'm not wrong… in your fifth year…"_

" _Derrick," Lily gritted out, not quite seeing the relevance. Derrick and she had barely been on two dates, and had hardly even kissed._

" _Yes, Derrick," Mrs Evans said, "He was a nice boy, wasn't he? Quite gifted at Charms, so you said yourself. A bit boring perhaps, but you shared some tastes. And other tastes differed, as… tastefully… as interests can differ, anyway."_

" _What's your point?" Lily interjected._

" _Why don't you marry him?" the older redhead – albeit with quite a few grey hairs amongst the deep red – asked._

" _What?" Lily said, taken aback by the absurdity of her mother's abrupt question, "That's… I don't even… what?"_

" _He's a nice boy. Was he lacking in some way?"_

" _I… no, he wasn't but… I don't even see what this has to do with anything…"_

" _So what's the difference between James and Derrick? Or are you drawn to James' popularity, his wealth, his standing among wizards and witches of repute?"_

" _What? No! I'm not drawn to James'… please, mother… I love James. I don't love Derrick. Never did, never will."_

 _Mrs Evans shook her head. "That's exactly what I'm trying to tell you, Lily," she said, "The only thing that stands between a relationship with James, and a relationship with Derrick, for instance, is this flimsy emotion you call love. Worse, it's young love. It takes far, FAR more than just love to sustain a relationship, Lily."_

 _Lily appeared to be stumped, so Mrs Evans took advantage of the momentary lull to continue._

" _What you're experiencing, Lily, isn't quite the mature love brought on by experience and the firm knowledge of yourself and of your partner and of the world; it's the idealistic attraction that is spawned by – and please don't take offence at the words I'm going to use - youthful arrogance and the ignorant belief that you, and your partner, will forever be unchanged by the ravages of life and time itself. The world changes, Lily – and from what you tell me, your world is suffering through a war, for God's sake! Both you and James shall change, and with that, your mutual affection and regard for each other shall change too. The attraction of your youth – that never really earned the misnomer of 'love' – shall then vanish, and be replaced by resentment of the other's change, and perhaps even hostility."_

 _Lily palmed her face in frustration. "Mum," she said at last, her teeth still gritted in frustration, "James and I are getting married. And that's the end of that. I'm not as disillusioned as you are right now, and I hope I never shall be that disillusioned. Love is more than enough an anchor for me."_

" _Fair enough," Mrs Evans said with a sigh, "Just remember my words, Lily – it takes far more than just attraction, or even love, to sustain a long-term relationship. It takes a fair amount of will, on part of everyone involved in the relationship – the will to stay together, and the will to exert yourself for each other, even when love is strained by circumstance. I can only hope you and James possess it in spades."_

 _1981_

" _James, really?!" Lily screamed, "Really?! You're just going to leave the damn shirt on the ground?!"_

" _I'm going to do as I damn well please," James said hotly, "This is my house."_

" _It's my house as well!" Lily contested, "It became my damn house from the moment you made me Mrs. Potter!"_

" _Perhaps I shouldn't have," James said nonchalantly, "You can't even seem to lift up a damn shirt."_

" _It's your damn shirt, James. You can lift it up yourself."_

" _Isn't there more we should be worried about than who picks up a bloody shirt? We're living in the middle of a freaking Fidelius, and we've been forbidden from going out, and I can't even speak to Sirius, and Peter and Remus have been forbidden from contacting me…"_

" _You think the isolation hasn't taken its toll on me, James?" Lily asked, interrupting James' tirade, "You don't think the lack of contact with friends and family hasn't affected me? My mum's sick, James! I don't even know if she will make it… hell, I don't even know if she's alive now, dammit!"_

" _Well, go SEE her then!" James roared, "I can take care of my son myself!"_

" _How dare you," Lily said in a low voice, trembling with sheer rage, "How dare you make this a bloody crusade of self-pity…"_

" _This is ridiculous," James said abruptly, cutting her off, "Frank and Alice probably don't quarrel like this!"_

" _Oh, and I'm dying to know why that is," Lily said archly._

" _Well, it's definitely not because Frank refuses to pick up a stupid shirt," James said, "It's probably because Alice is everything that you're not!"_

 _Lily's face turned ashen. "Oh?" she asked in a soft, dangerously low voice, "And what am I not, exactly?"_

" _A wife who commiserates," James soldiered on, "And more. A wife who doesn't treat her husband like sh…"_

" _I see," Lily breathed. She continued, her voice growing louder with every passing syllable, "So that's how it is. This is apparently because I don't value you as much as you value yourself in that overblown head of yours. Because doing all the chores, cleaning up the house, and looking up each and every form of magic that can make us stronger isn't enough to show you that I CARE, IS IT?"_

" _Care for WHO?" James roared, "ME? OR YOURSELF?"_

" _I could ask the same question in return," Lily said softly, her voice breaking abruptly, "Don't you care for me, James? Don't you trust me to care for you? Do we still love each other?"_

" _Oh shut up," James said abruptly, and picked up his shirt from the recliner. He threw the shirt into the laundry bin, which promptly changed into a box that emitted a keening sound – indicating that his shirt would be washed promptly. "There," James said, turning to Lily, "Satisfied?"_

 _Lily took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. "Fine," she gritted out, turned on her heel and stormed up the staircase._

 _Five minutes later, Lord Voldemort broke through the wards surrounding Godric's Hollow._

 _Present_

Lily grabbed Harry's wrists and slammed them against the wall, pinning his hands above his head. She closed in for the kill, her lips landing on his for an incredibly hot kiss.

Lily sighed and leaned in as the kiss deepened and their tongues swirled – it felt absolutely _heavenly_ kissing Harry; and the primary reason was probably because Harry was an _incredibly_ receptive lover. He _listened_ , and that made all the difference. He could practically sense, even in the early days of their newly kindled romance, how she responded to his touches and his affectionate caresses by the sounds she made, by how her hands wrapped around his, and he _changed_ accordingly. And it made him an amazingly quick study – so much so, that Lily herself had been caught off-guard by his sheer prowess.

Her hands wrapped around his shirtless torso, trailed down to his incredibly cushy bum, which she just loved squeezing to her heart's content, and then around to his hard abdomen, and further southwards, down into his pants, fingers inching towards _that_ part… her _weakness_ , her incredibly stiff, stout…

"Mmmmmfff!" Lily moaned into him, distracted by a well-timed flick of Harry's tongue, which then _swept_ out of her mouth, down her lips, and then to her neck, sweet kisses figuratively _scorching_ against her skin.

"Oh _hell_ , I should have _ruined_ you ages ago," Lily sighed, as he _teased_ moans and gasps from her, trailing calculated kisses almost instinctively along her sweet spots – spots that no other man had yet wormed out of her with such _skill_. His hands squeezed and cupped her clothed breasts, pushing up ever so fiercely and then _pulling_ at her nipples ever so softly, with _just_ the right amount of force that made her go _wild_ with arousal.

She wasn't lying. She should have _ruined_ Harry ages ago, made each and every part of hers familiar with _his_ weeks ago, but there had been _something_ that made her hesitate – a bundle of somethings that had taken her quite a while to untangle. After all, did she truly _love_ Harry? She thought she had known love a long time ago – and perhaps she _would_ have discovered the love she craved had _that_ relationship been allowed to last (not that she was convinced it _would_ have lasted) - but the satisfaction of knowing if that relationship was truly love or some sort of hasty commitment made of overzealous, but immature, affection, was brutally torn from her before things could come to a boil.

At the end of the day though, she did feel an entirely _primal_ attraction towards Harry – an attraction that was brought about by _more_ than something physical. It was attraction of a _deeper_ sort, a more _lasting_ sort – practically unheard of – brought about by the _touch_ of his magic on hers. But was that truly _enough_?

Lily sighed as Harry's lips parted from the valley where her neck met her shoulders. He looked up at her with a grin.

"I…" she breathed, and trembled at the step she was about to take – a next step, as it were, when it came to their… relationship. "I want… I want _more_."

Harry raised an eyebrow. Lily bent down, as Harry leant away from her, and hastily stepped out of her panties, her powerful legs working overtime to get rid of them. Harry gasped as he stared at her vagina – for what was probably the first time, for only his _fingers_ had truly "seen"her snatch before – and then looked into her eyes, as if he was making sure he had figured out what she wanted.

She _urged_ him down with her hands, pressing on top of his head. She could barely wait – she was _sopping_ wet at the moment, with sheer anticipation of his dextrous tongue working over her, down _there_.

But he resisted. The handsome young man kneeling down between her thighs _dared_ to resist. She groaned in frustration and _pushed_ him back, but he drew out of her grip with a laugh and laid a hot wet kiss on her left thigh, _pushing_ his face into her flesh and kneading her legs _ever_ so pleasurably with his hands. Lily moaned. And then he continued massaging her inner thighs, laying a teasing path down her core, only to withdraw _just_ as he reached the _centre_ , and resuming his sensual massage of her thighs with his mouth and hands.

"Harry, _please_ ," she gasped, "I _need_ you… I _want_ your _tongue_ …"

But the ruthless dark-haired man persisted, despite her sinful entreaties, in his glorious _tease_ , nipping _right_ at the juncture where her thighs met her midriff, drawing out a squeal from her mouth.

And then, ever so suddenly, a flurry of moans tumbled from her as his tongue drew a frenzied path around her _outer_ lips, _flicking_ over her clitoral hood.

"Such a _fucking_ tease," Lily growled, and then gasped, "Don't keep your mother waiting, you naughty little _fuck_."

And just like that, Harry slapped his hands onto her inner thighs and _pulled_ , stretching her outer lips to expose her _inner_ quim, which was _slushing_ with arousal at that moment. His mouth landed on her plum vagina and his tongue _plunged_ in, drawing out _shrieks_ of lust from her as she _quivered_ on her son's _face_.

"Mother _fucker_ ," she moaned and pinched her own nipples in lustful frenzy, " _Munch_ on mommy's _cunt_!"

His tongue _burrowed_ , it _twisted_ , in an _incredible_ display of oral skill, _twining_ and teasing, his lips somehow managing to knead her _clit_ amidst this show of dexterity. And then, he twisted his head, keeping his tongue rigid _inside_ her cunt and _slapped_ her bum. She squealed and jumped forward, pushing them both onto the ground – she was now _sitting_ on his face, facing his legs. She twisted her legs around so that they were bent underneath her on either side of his head, _crushing_ his handsome face with her thighs.

"This is the _best_ ," Lily groaned. Her tongue was practically lolling out of her mouth and her eyes were threatening to roll up. Her vaginal walls had begun to quiver _rapidly_ – she was _probably_ approaching the biggest orgasm she had ever had in her _life_. "This is… _oh yes_ … the… _ooooooh_ … best… _ungh_ …"

Harry's tongue stopped for a _frustrating_ , _heart-stopping_ moment. And then, it… _flowed_.

Harry blew his own previous oral dexterity out of the water as his tongue just _carved_ a path through her vagina with inhuman speed. Lily screamed at the top of her voice and the world _blurred_ to black as her eyes rolled up into her skull. She couldn't see. She couldn't _feel_ a thing except for his hands pulling at her nipples and his tongue _delving_ into and _moulding_ her inner walls with skill she was positive _couldn't_ be natural… _shouldn't_ be natural, if only for her own sanity…

She stilled. The _world_ turned to glass.

And then _everything_ exploded.

"UUUUUUNNNNGGGGHHHH! YOU FUCKING _SNAKE_!" Lily shrieked as she _flooded_ Harry's mouth with her ejaculate. Her body doubled over with the force of her orgasm, which just seemed to go _on_ and _on_ , a continuous stream of _love_ that _showered_ Harry with her affection. This was the _best_ orgasm _ever_ – practically _nothing_ that came before compared to _this_.

And then she felt _him_ – his _thing_ – poking into her face. Her eyes opened with bleary surprise as she realized she had _draped_ herself over him at that point – they were both lying prone on the ground, with him beneath her. At some point, they had both slid _off_ the loveseat and onto the floor, and she hadn't even realized it.

She _screamed_ again, _right_ over his enormous _penis_ , and to muffle her scream, barely even thinking, she _plunged_ her mouth down his turgid _rod_.

She choked, _hard_ , and continued to _cum_ , her entire body _spasming_.

Harry grunted into her vagina at the feel of his penis sheathing itself within his mother's helpless mouth, which _squeezed_ around his shaft in what Lily could only _hope_ was a _pleasant_ manner. She _tried_ to loosen her throat, and _tried_ to open her mouth wider, but his penis was enormous as it was, and there was no further space to be had.

And his tongue was at it again, inside her vagina. The same _hissing_ , the same _flowing_ , the same _quivering_. Lily lost all sense of time again, of _place_ again, and helplessly _slobbered_ over Harry's penis, which at this point had _lodged_ itself in her screaming, spasming _throat_.

"MMMMNNNNGGGGHHHH!" Lily screamed on the fat cock inside her mouth as she _exploded_ , a second time, proving once and for all that lightning _can_ strike twice if it were bestowed with the forked tongue of a _god_. A _stream_ of ejaculate _shot_ outwards from her spasming cunt – her thighs tightened and _pushed_ even as her snatch _pulled_ away off Harry's face and she _hosed_ her juices all over him, even as she choked all over his cock.

And then she felt a _throb_ from the meatstick inside her mouth, followed by a pulse she knew all too well. Harry was discharging his _own_ cum.

"I'm cumming," he gasped, and tapped the back of her head, as if expecting her to get _off_. But she couldn't. She _wouldn't_. She _buried_ his fuckstick _deeper_ and choked as his cum _splurged_ into her mouth.

"Okay, this is _new_ ," Harry gasped.

Harry moaned, _loudly_ , as spurt after spurt of thick splooge flooded Lily's throat, and she _swallowed_ , sending Harry into glorious convulsions, much to her satisfaction, despite her own bleary-eyed awareness of the world at large. Still reeling from the force of _two_ orgasms within the space of mere minutes, Lily managed to _choke_ on her son's penis and _swallow_ the _gallons_ of cum that Harry's meat was in the habit of _hosing_ out.

At last, they both _stopped_ cumming, Lily moaned on Harry's fat, but softening, cock and slumped over to the side, his penis _plopping_ out of her mouth, _coated_ with her saliva – she had swallowed _all_ of his cum. They both panted.

"Okay, that was _incredible_ ," Harry gasped, "I… you… _swallowed_ … oh _damn_ … that was _awesome_."

Lily choked out a laugh. "I think I'm too full for dinner now," she panted.

Lily took an entire quarter of an hour to recover, by which time Harry had already managed to prepare tea for her just the way she liked it.

And that quarter of an hour – amid her convulsions of pleasure, which mercifully petered out – gave her time enough to _think_. About what she had just experienced. About _Harry_.

Her first instinct was envy. If she had any doubts before about whether she was Harry's first, all those doubts were washed away by the _expertise_ of what Harry had just performed. He had done… _all_ of that… before. And that sent her into a fit of vengeful jealousy, which she had to take _some_ effort to draw herself out of.

After all, it wasn't as if _she_ was a blushing virgin either – she had a _past_ too; nonetheless, she felt possessive. She felt like she wanted to _skewer_ whoever had _taught_ Harry the things he knew now.

And she was pretty certain she knew who it was. She had watched the girl closely, and she had figured it out from the furtive glances, from the occasional looks.

Cho Chang. The Ravenclaw _prude_ , apparently, according to the Hogwarts grapevine, but Lily knew better.

It wasn't exactly hard for Lily to surmise what had happened; the older girl, who already seemed to have a sort of crush on several boys at Hogwarts – including _her_ Harry – had probably thought it would be fun to fool around during summer, like several girls do, prompted, perhaps by peer pressure. Harry had probably arrived on the scene, and the two had probably experimented a bit. Which would probably explain Harry's skill.

Of course, if the two _had_ gone further… if Lily later found out that Cho bloody Chang had taken _her_ Harry's virginity, there would be _hell_ to pay for.

Then again, Lily could do _more_ than compete with a _fling_ Harry had with some mere _girl_. After all, Harry had promised her that his fling was over, and that there was no one else now.

And there had _better_ not be.

Because at the end of the day, she _needed_ Harry. The sex – or as much as they had gone down _that_ particular road to _hell_ – was heavenly. But so were the conversations Lily had with him. And so was his _company_. This was the sort of match witches her age _dreamed_ of.

So, really, what was stopping her from making a play for the whole package?

 _Ugh, she thought to herself, Stop over-analysing things, Lily, and just go with the flow._

 _But then again, you are sorta falling for him. Hard._

"So," Harry asked at last, as Lily sipped at her tea, "What brought _this_ on? You _pounced_ on me as soon as I came in."

Lily giggled. "A lioness _always_ pounces on her prey, Harry," she said happily. And then she lowered her voice a notch. "Besides, I so did _not_ like the way those _girls_ were eyeing you."

Harry looked nonplussed. "Uh," he asked slowly, "What girls?"

Lily sighed. "For someone who manages to surprise me with his field awareness each time we duel," she said, "You sure are clueless. You're the Hogwarts _Champion_ , Harry. Those little girls were eyeing you up like a piece of _meat_. And I don't think I like that at _all_."

Harry grimaced. "Yeah well, being the Champion isn't all that great," he said.

Lily shrugged. "I did notice Ron sitting at the end of the table away from you guys," she prompted.

"Yeah," Harry said, "The guy said something ridiculous about me hogging the limelight… about me _wanting_ to hog all the limelight and just stomped away to sit with Dean and Seamus."

"He's jealous," Lily said.

Harry looked at Lily. He opened his mouth as if he were about to launch into a defence of Ron's character, but stopped. "Hermione said the same thing," he said at last.

"He'll get over it, Harry," Lily said, "Which is not to say that Ron's behaviour can be excused; but a year from now, he'll be as ashamed of his behaviour as he should be _now_."

"I just…," Harry said, "I just miss his company, y'know? Hanging around with the rest of the gang is fun – Ginny seems a lot more willing to talk, Hermione's loosened up a bit, Luna's bonkers, but in a fun way, and Neville's the quiet, shy sort… but it's just not the same without Ron."

"Fair enough," said Lily, "He _is_ your oldest friend, after all. And it probably smarts now, but it's not _your_ fault, Harry."

"Yeah," Harry said and then continued, grumpily, "On that note, I'm not really sure if my selection for the Triwizard Tournament is supposed to excite me or frighten me."

Lily laughed. "What?" she asked.

"It's just…," Harry said earnestly, and then looked around as if he was searching for the right words to describe his plight. "It's just that there's so _much_ riding on this… I didn't really think of any of this when I was dropping my name into the goblet."

"So what _were_ you thinking of?" Lily asked curiously.

"I guess the same things everyone was thinking of when they dropped their names in," Harry said with a sigh, "Glory. Fame. Riches."

"Why do you think Viktor Krum entered the tournament then?" Lily asked. She sighed internally – she was never really very good at motivational speeches. At the same time, she always _was_ good at sussing out truths about people, or at prompting people to _embrace_ a truth. "He's already got most of what you cited – glory, fame, riches and all that."

"I don't know," Harry said in a thoughtful voice, "Maybe… maybe he wanted to prove that he was more than just a Quidditch star?"

"Perhaps," Lily said, "And from what I know of Fleur Delacour…"

Harry snorted. Lily looked at him questioningly.

He shrugged. "Nothing," he said quickly, "It's just that she was a bit erm…"

"Bitchy?" Lily ventured and giggled as she saw Harry flush. "That's fair," Lily continued, "But I had the opportunity to talk to her shortly after the Beauxbatons contingent's arrival at Hogwarts. It was… illuminating – she didn't seem to be all that up her own arse at all. In fact, she was quite eager to talk about Charms with me…"

"Wait," Harry said, "When did you even talk to her?"

"Like I said, shortly after the Arrival Ceremony," Lily said, "Madame Maxime asked for a bit of help in shoring up a few charms on the carriages, so Filius and I went over to help. A couple of Beauxbatons students pitched in as well, eager to learn – Fleur was one of them. She's quite a delightful conversationalist when she gets going."

Harry looked mighty sceptical at that, so Lily continued, "Anyway, my point was that Fleur Delacour isn't _quite_ in this tournament to bring glory to her name – well, there might be a whole lot of that adding to her motives – but I'm pretty sure _most_ of her motives revolve around overcoming the bias against her… heritage, as it were."

"Heritage?" Harry asked, puzzled.

"Something I can identify with very well, I assure you," Lily said, and trailed off.

"Fleur is a _muggleborn_?" Harry asked, bewildered.

"Uh," Lily looked a bit uneasy, then said, "It's not for me to say - I don't think even _Fleur_ registered what she let slip – and her secrets are hers to reveal, Harry. But yes, at the end of the day, Fleur is in this tournament, to _prove_ something to herself, in addition to the rest of the world."

"I'm not sure I follow," Harry said.

"Fear of taking part in a tournament of this stature is quite natural, Harry," Lily said, "The trick is – like the other champions – to focus on your _real_ reason for taking part, rather than paying attention to what _others_ expect of you."

"Yeah, well," Harry snapped, "That only works if I was actually _thinking_ of something when I put my name into the goblet."

"A man can't really stop _thinking_ , Harry," Lily said, her eyes boring into Harry, "Isn't there an ideal you hold dear? Something you strive for?"

"If you're expecting me to say ' _perfection_ ' or ' _power_ ' or something equally corny…" Harry muttered.

Lily laughed. "Well, I'm sure I can _get_ you to say something corny," Lily said with an airy voice, "Oh, wait, did I spell corny with an 'h'?"

Harry gagged, and then burst out laughing.

"Look," Lily continued in a serious voice, "I _know_ there _is_ an ideal you strive for, Harry. It's why I find you… attractive. And I _know_ what that ideal is – even if you don't, but I'm not going to spell it out for you. What is the thing you most cherish, Harry? What is it you _really_ want, not just for yourself, but for _others_ around you? What is it that _drives_ you?"

"Drives…?" Harry asked, bewildered.

"What do you _yearn_ for, Harry? Why do you go out of your way to help those who are in trouble? Like Ginny Weasley in the Chamber of Secrets? Or was it just to win the appreciation of your friends?" Lily asked harshly.

"That… that was just… Ron's my _friend_ ," Harry ventured.

"So your actions were merely to keep a friend? Is that it? Is this about expanding your influence? About holding on to it?"

"No!" Harry said quickly, "I… I…"

"What do you truly _want_ , Harry?" Lily asked.

Harry bent his head. Lily looked at the young man curiously, waiting to hear _what_ he'd say. Eventually, Harry sighed and looked up at her. His green eyes were set in a sort of calm determination. Lily smiled.

"Freedom," Harry rasped, "It's… freedom."

She could _see_ the fierce passion in his eyes – his entire _life_ , if what she had heard about his tenure at the Dursleys was true, was oriented towards achieving _freedom_. From the Dursleys. For the wizarding world at large – it was what _drove_ Harry, subconsciously, and sometimes, _consciously_.

"Bingo," Lily said, beaming. "And," she asked him, "How can you work towards freedom if you're not yet free from _fear_ , Harry?"

Harry smiled.

"The first, and perhaps the most important, step towards freedom… _true_ freedom, is…" Lily began, but Harry interrupted.

"Freedom from _fear_ ," Harry said, "I get it."

"Then chin up, Harry," Lily said, "Forget about the others, about _their_ expectations. Break free of them and face the tournament in your own right, to the best of your ability. That's all anyone can ask of you… but more importantly, that's all you can ask of _yourself_."


	10. The First Task

The First Task

"So," Hermione asked, as Harry stared at his breakfast, "I guess avoiding the topic doesn't make _you_ stop thinking about it."

"No," Harry agreed mildly, his heart beating wildly at the thought of what he was about to face. Granted, his mother's advice _had_ made sense – but that was _then_. Adopting that advice, on the other hand, was tougher _now_ than it had seemed at the time.

"Then I guess there's no point avoiding the topic at all," Hermione said happily. Harry scowled at her, but she ignored him.

"They really haven't told you _anything_ about the First Task?" Ginny asked him curiously.

Harry shook his head mutely.

"Merlin," Neville said, "That must be bloody terrifying."

Harry narrowed his eyes at the round-faced boy. "Thanks, Neville," he gritted out and the boy looked abashed.

"So what _did_ they tell you?" Ginny asked curiously.

Harry must have looked completely incapable of forming long, complex sentences, so Hermione took over.

"Apparently," the bushy-haired girl intoned, "They told him that the first task was to be a test of mettle in the face of the unknown, or some such thing. As a spectator, I have to say it's _very_ exciting. As a competitor, though…"

"Not so much," Harry completed.

"Well, Harry," Fred said in a happy tone from his left, "We're _all_ rooting for you."

"So no pressure," George said, from Fred's left.

"Yeah, yeah," Harry said.

"Relax, Harry!" Fred tried again, "Think of it as just another Quidditch match."

"Yup," George added, "Another Quidditch match, where the rules are all pretty much unknown to you."

"And your opposition is pretty much unknown too," Fred quipped.

"And practically everything about the game is hidden from you," George said.

"And you're all by your lonesome with no team," Fred completed.

"Are you guys even _trying_ to be comforting?" Harry snapped.

Hermione huffed. "Don't listen to them, Harry," she soothed, "You'll be fine."

Harry looked at her incredulously. "You _are_ aware my… er… opposition… are _final year students_ , right?"

"Oh yeah," Fred said nonchalantly, "But that just means they'll know _way_ more magic than you do."

"Apart from that though," George said, in a tone that was weirdly reminiscent of Hermione's, "You'll be _fine_."

Hermione looked miffed. Ginny flung her glass of tomato juice – though the glass barely contained a few leftover drops – at the twins, sprinkling drops of red liquid all over them.

"Stop it," the redheaded girl warned her brothers.

"Alright, alright," Fred said, "Yeesh, you'd think we came here to demoralize Harry or something."

"Glad you're helping out, Weasley," came an irritatingly familiar, overly snide voice.

Harry buried his face in his palms. "Oh _great_ ," he muttered, "Just what the doctor ordered. Malfoy for breakfast."

"Don't swing that way, Potty," Malfoy said with a smirk. The boy continued, looking imperiously at Harry, "Just wanted to let you know that the expectations of _England_ are riding upon you. Live up to it."

Malfoy then pranced away, but not before flinging a copy of the morning newspaper at him. The newspaper, folded so that it showed a _very_ prominent article printed in the Opinions section of the Daily Prophet, landed in front of Harry.

As if on cue, a couple of owls swooped overhead, dropping off copies of the Daily Prophet. Hermione curiously unfolded her copy and after stealing a glance at the page Harry was reading, followed suit and pored over the Opinion section.

Harry thought he might as well get it over it; Malfoy had thrown the paper into his lap for a reason – a very _bad_ reason, in all probability, if Malfoy was so eager to let him know all about it – and Harry thought he may as well get it over with as soon as possible. His eyes landed on the article Malfoy had obviously wanted him to read and he groaned almost immediately at the headline.

" _ **A Goblet, a Boy Hero and an Eccentric Headmaster – Recipe for Disaster?**_

 _By Rita Skeeter_

 _Special Correspondent for the Daily Prophet_

 _I was spurred to write this little opinion piece by the various responses I received to my reportage on the Weighing of the Wands. According to some of the responses, I was guilty of paying too much attention to Quidditch star Viktor Krum at the expense of the Beauxbatons champion and our very own home-grown hero, Harry Potter._

 _And that is a fair criticism. However, I feel it is my duty, as a conscientious reporter, to point out that there is a reason for the close focus on Krum – of the three champions, only the Bulgarian seeker seemed willing to consent to an individual interview with the Daily Prophet. The French champion, on the other hand, seemed more eager to converse with the reporter for Les Nouvelles Magique, though she did spare a few minutes for my piece. Viktor Krum himself seemed more at ease with our Bulgarian counterpart – Vulshebnata Zakuska; but that could merely be due to an ease of communication, seeing as how I speak very little Bulgarian, and he, while relatively fluent in the language, speaks halting English. Harry Potter, on the other hand, seemed quite reluctant to speak to ANY of the reporters on the scene and stayed quite close to Albus Dumbledore throughout the proceedings._

 _Again, this may be a case of nerves, but is it even remotely likely that a boy so famous, whose name has appeared in nearly every book written by an English wizard or witch in the past decade, suddenly develops a drastic case of media-shyness when it comes to a tournament he has voluntarily chosen to be a part of? Indeed, the Boy-Who-Lived seemed to shrink away as soon as he saw me make a beeline for him, eager to converse with my famous compatriot - the pride of Wizarding Britain. His eyes, however, gave him away – I saw no fright in them. Merely a fierce wariness – the sort of caginess that follows when one has a secret to hide._

 _And even more suspicious was how he seemed to take cues from the wizened old Headmaster of my alma mater. Surely, if Harry Potter were a confident wizard, worthy of being chosen by the Goblet of Fire – one of the more ancient and powerful magical artefacts in existence today – as the most powerful student at Hogwarts, he would not need to take cues from anyone, let alone from the Headmaster with the spottiest record of them all. And yet, there he was – a mere boy, instead of a powerful warlock. A cagey child with something to hide, rather than a brave young man with a lot to show._

 _I would be remiss if I did not finish this article with a conclusive summary of my views, but I simply cannot; because all of these observations do not lend themselves to satisfactory answers. However, they do lend themselves to some very disturbing questions, the most important of which is this: Is Hogwarts fielding a sub-par candidate for the Tri-Wizard Tournament? When all of the other champions are powerful, final-year students, how is it even possible that the best Hogwarts has to offer is a student barely through his Fourth Year?_

 _And the above questions lead to yet another quandary – if it does turn out that Harry Potter is a less-than-stellar candidate, whose fame is the product of misadventure and the efforts of others (including his amazingly brave and talented mother), how is it even possible that HE was chosen by the Goblet of Fire? Or has the Goblet been tampered with? Do the frequent interactions between Harry Potter and his Headmaster offer a clue as to what actually happened when it came to the selection of the Hogwarts Champion? Is favouritism rampant at Hogwarts?_

 _Tough questions. No easy answers. I suppose all we can do is wait with bated breath for the First Task and hope, against all reason, that the barely-in-his-teens Harry Potter is indeed the best candidate Hogwarts – and by way of its most prestigious school, England - has to offer._

 _The views expressed in this column are those of the author and the Daily Prophet forswears all legal responsibility for the printing of this article under Provision Four of the IWC Charter"_

Hermione snorted after she finished reading through the article. "No one's going to believe this ridiculousness," she said indignantly, "Anyone that can _think_ knows that there's nothing substantial in here, except for whatever Skeeter created herself."

" _Les nouvelles enchaine," Luna recited._

Hermione giggled. "I agree," she said, "Skeeter may as well _make_ the damn news – that's all she seems to do; she barely even _reports_ anymore."

Luna smiled serenely as she finished her toast.

Harry slammed his head on the table for want of something to do, while Fred patted him on the back with what the stocky redhead would claim was sympathy, but what Harry could safely say was patronization.

"Ugh," Harry said, "This is just… _ugh_."

He looked blearily across the table and groaned again as he saw that people were _already_ passing around copies of the Daily Prophet and eying him suspiciously.

 _So much for 'anyone who can think', he thought._

His eyes inadvertently landed on Ron towards the end of the table. For a moment, their eyes met, and Harry _thought_ Ron's eyes began to form a sympathetic glance, but the next moment, he knew he'd imagined it – Ron had the temerity to _smirk_ at him as the gangly redhead smoothed (presumably, Seamus' copy of) the Daily Prophet in front of him.

 _Harry scowled and looked away immediately. Great, he thought, Now Ron thinks I used my non-existent 'influence' to get into the Tournament too. Score one for Skeeter._

He looked across the table, only to see a _very_ furious Hermione glaring in Ron's direction.

"He's such a horrible, _horrible_ idiot," Hermione snarled. Then she flushed and looked at Ginny apologetically.

Ginny shrugged and said, with an embarrassed smile, "I say that twice a day at home, Hermione."

"So, Harry," George said genially, after he skimmed through the article himself, "What's this about the Weighing of Wands? Sounds dodgy, seeing as how your wand is pretty damn heavy anyway."

Harry palmed his face while Neville chortled and the girls just looked bewildered.

"Yup," Fred joined in, "Not really seen it since last year though – stupid Wood and his stupid insistence on dragging us naked out of the showers after we won the Cup."

"Guys," Harry said tiredly, just as Ginny asked, "What _are_ you idiots talking about?"

Neville burst out laughing.

To Harry's horror, George actually opened his mouth to explain what he was talking about, so Harry quickly interceded.

"The Weighing of… er… The _Weighing_ ," he said quickly, ignoring the snickers of Neville and the Weasley twins, "Was basically just Ollivander checking over the Champions' wands to making sure they were working properly."

Harry winced as he realized what he'd just said – and on cue, the twins and Neville started laughing even harder. The girls looked as clueless as ever – though Harry could never really tell with Luna.

"So, was your… er… wand working well, Harry?" Fred asked between chuckles.

"Oh, stuff it," Harry said.

"Oh, was _that_ what Ollivander did?" George asked mirthfully.

"Ugh," Harry responded. Neville laughed so hard his nose almost touched his empty plate.

"Fleur's wand must be very _very_ pretty," Fred said over Neville's laughter.

Harry, exasperated, thought he may as well play along. "Fleur's wand contained a ''air from 'er grandmuzzer'", he mimicked in an airy voice.

"What?" Hermione asked, trying desperately to follow the conversation, "Wand cores can be made from _hairs_?"

"Not that I have heard of," Ginny said with a frown, "Only parts of magical creatures."

"Well, Fleur's grandmother _is_ a magical creature," Harry said wryly, "Her grandmother is a veela."

The table quietened for a moment.

"Ha!" Ginny exclaimed, "No _wonder_ you guys are so attracted to Fleur! It's not because she's beautiful, it's because she does that thing veela do!"

"Uh huh," Harry responded sceptically. He might not like Fleur much, but even he knew that Fleur would be uncommonly beautiful even without that weird veela allure thing.

"Yeah, I'm with Harry," Fred said, "Fleur's pretty damn gorgeous, even if she _didn't_ have the magic hair."

Ginny huffed. She looked to Hermione and Luna for support, but they chose to stay mysteriously silent. The redhead huffed again.

"So, was Fleur's wand pretty big? Was it hard?" George asked, and Neville burst into laughter again.

"And why did you avoid Skeeter?" Ginny asked, ignoring the snorts and chuckles from the males.

"I just… you guys _warned_ me about her during that Les…," Harry said, and then paused to look at Neville, who was thankfully still trying to bring his laughter under control and hadn't heard Harry's response to Ginny's question. He continued, "You guys warned me about her during the report about the Azkaban thing.

"So when Rita Skeeter cornered me and asked me to get into a _broom closet_ , of all things, with _her_ , I kinda backtracked a bit."

"And apparently took refuge under Dumbledore's skirt," Luna said blandly.

Everyone gaped at Luna. Fred gagged. "Ugh," he said, "The thought of Dumbledore in drag…"

"Ugh," George echoed.

"I suppose I _must_ confess to _occasionally_ trying out my mother's dress and articles," came a deep voice from behind them, "But in my defence, Mister Weasley and Mister Weasley, I was only four years old and too curious for my own good, as all four-year-olds are. I'm afraid I have never touched a feminine article of clothing with the intention of donning it since."

Fred and George turned crimson as they spun in their seats, only to be greeted by the sight of Albus Dumbledore himself.

"Uh, sir, we were just… uh… whoops?" Fred tried. The girls started giggling really hard.

Harry's heart started hammering in his chest. "Sir?" he asked.

"I'm afraid it's time for the Champions to assemble, Harry," Dumbledore proclaimed. Neville gasped and the entire table grew quiet at once. Harry noticed the students at the other tables straining to listen to the Headmaster.

"Uh," Harry asked, hoping he wasn't sweating under the glare of every eye at Hogwarts, "Is it time to let the Champions know what the task is all about?"

"Mister Bagman shall do the honours, Harry," Dumbledore said, "He's waiting for you in the Champions' tent, just outside the Quidditch Pitch."

Krum and Fleur barely even greeted Harry as he entered the tent. Though, to be fair to Krum, Harry could never tell whether Krum was clearing his throat or grunting to greet someone. And Fleur was as cold and aloof as ever.

Bagman, on the other hand, was so effusive it made Harry want to retch.

"Harry, ol' chap, Harry Harry Harry!" Bagman said in a voice that was _way_ too amiable for comfort, "Glad you're here! Guess you were held up by your press secretary?"

"What?" Harry asked, bewildered.

"Y'know, to counter Skeeter's defamation," Bagman said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

"No, I…" Harry began, but Bagman interrupted.

"Oh, it must be the lawyer then," the balding man said.

Harry didn't even care to defend himself this time around – Bagman just went on speaking. Krum grunted sympathetically though, and Fleur snorted, which sort of left him smarting.

"So, the First Task," Bagman said, rubbing his hands gleefully, "Let's get started then!"

Harry chanced a glance at Krum and Fleur, who looked equally mystified – he relaxed as he noticed how he wasn't the only Champion who appeared to be absolutely clueless about the First Task.

"Your aim, as it were," Ludo Bagman continued, "Is to get to the _armour_ at the other end of the course."

And then Bagman just looked at them imperiously.

"Armour?" Fleur asked, "I do not see ze importance, Meester Bagman."

"Ah," Bagman said in a disturbingly excited voice, "For now, that is all you need to know. I shall announce the details of the armour later in the arena, so keep your ears open."

"Of course," Bartemius Crouch said smoothly, entering the tent and startling them all, "You shall enter the course one after the other, turn by turn. You only have _one_ attempt to get to the armour, so I'd beg you all to try your best the first time around."

"And," Harry interjected, "Will there be something _between_ us and the armour?"

"That," Crouch answered brusquely, "Is for you to find out."

 _Ugh_ , Harry thought.

"Now," Bagman asked brightly, "Which one of you shall volunteer to go first?"

All three champions squirmed and looked at each other. Harry was relieved to see that he wasn't the only one struck with a case of the nerves at the lack of information being bandied about.

"Very well," Crouch said and pulled a small purse out of his robe pocket. He plunged a hand into it and pulled a slip out. Harry's felt his breathing rate speed up a tiny bit.

"The first one to enter the arena," said Crouch, his voice betraying no emotion at all, "Shall be Harry Potter."

 _Goddammit_.

"The second," Crouch said, pulling another slip of paper out, "Shall be Viktor Krum."

"And the charming Fleur Delacour shall be last," Bagman finished.

Fleur breathed a sigh of relief, and Krum just nodded.

"Harry?" Bagman said tentatively, placing a fatherly hand on his shoulder and pointing outside the tent, "Glory beckons."

Harry stepped out of the tent, only to be blinded by the glare of the sun and deafened by the burst of noise. As soon as his eyes adjusted, he could see it – a shining metallic looking robe at the other end of a short narrow stone path; only, it looked like no robe Harry had seen before. It had sharp, spiked pitch-black pauldrons, gleaming silver gauntlets and cruel curved shoulder plates coloured a deep blood-red. The torso and lower parts of the robe, which included _chausses_ , of all things, seemed to be composed of interlinked plates of some organic looking shell, painted a dark forest-green. The overall effect, though, was _very_ impressive in Harry's opinion.

The 'armour', as Bagman had called it, was barely fifty feet away from Harry.

 _Surely, Harry thought to himself, This is a trick. There's no way the task is this easy._

And so, he looked around him, only to wish he hadn't. The stands that were usually placed around the Quidditch Pitch, had now been arrayed around the short race course, and were _filled_ with students, and not a few reporters and parents. The effect was intimidating, to say the least. Harry heard a chorus of boos, and cheers, and he thought he even heard quite a few students chanting his name.

"The Champion of Hogwarts, ladies and gentlemen!" Bagman proclaimed, and the stands erupted with cheers. Cameras flashed away and Harry took deep, calming breaths to keep himself from hyperventilating.

 _All that matters is getting to the armour. All that matters is getting to the armour. Once I get to it, it's all over. It's all over._

"The object, as some of you must have surmised, is the awesome-looking battle robe at the tail end of the course!" Bagman proclaimed as the screams continued, "The Champion who completes the task shall receive three entire sets of the replica placed at the tail end of the pitch!

"Of course, the Champion who performs the task _best_ , in the opinion of our esteemed judges, shall receive the _best_ set of robes, forged to withstand even the most powerful jinxes! The Champion who ranks second shall receive the _next_ best set, forged to withstand most standard charms and hexes, and the Champion who comes last, shall receive the _worst_ set of robes, offering the barest of protection against minor spells and burns!"

 _Great_ , Harry thought sourly.

"AND NOW," Bagman bellowed, "LET THE TASK COMMENCE!"

Two great gouts of flame roared into existence from either side of the path to the replica armour, startling Harry. The crowd roared, even as his heart hammered wildly in his chest. He tried to breathe, but the noise and the bursts of heat and colour proved a bit much.

He pulled his wand out of his left sleeve and cycled through the occlumency exercises Narcissa had thought him.

 _Push your thoughts away, gently, just push them away, push them away…_

 _Focus on the robes, focus, focus on the robes…_

His vision blurred and narrowed and the sounds of the crowd grew dull in his ears. Harry tensed, his wand at the ready, magic already forming at the tip. His heart pounded a staccato rhythm in his rib-cage, which felt fragile and flimsy. His breath came in short spurts.

 _This is it_ , he thought, every muscle threatening to burst into nervous, frantic tremors, _This is my shot at glory. This is my chance._

He _charged_ onto the path towards the floating set of robes.

A flash of grey and a massive spike of pain followed, turning the world to black.

The world went from black to grey to drab white and the familiar scent of a Pepper-Up potion wafted up Harry's nostrils. He groaned as he realized he was in the Hospital Wing. Again.

"Indeed, Mister Potter," came the familiar voice of Madam Pomfrey, seemingly capable of reading thoughts… or just the exasperated expression on his face, "These visits are becoming all too common. _Honestly_ though, I have no idea what the organizers of this tournament were thinking – conjurations with no cushioning charms whatsoever! And inflicting them on _students_!"

"What… what was it…?" Harry tried to ask, but Pomfrey forced a couple of gulps of sour-tasting potions into his mouth and promptly bustled away.

Harry took the time to look around – only to see a very prim-looking Hermione sitting comfortably beside his disturbingly regular bed in the Hogwarts hospital wing.

"This looks familiar," Harry said mildly.

Hermione smiled. "To be fair," she said, pointing to the bed, "I was in your position two years ago, and _you_ were the one sitting on this chair."

"Ha!" Harry said, and then grimaced as a sharp spike shot through his head.

Hermione looked nervously in Madam Pomfrey's direction, but the healer had long since sequestered herself in the office.

"Madam Pomfrey told me to look after you," Hermione said quickly, "She said you'd be fine in a while, and that you wouldn't have to stay the night."

"Well, _that's_ a first," he said.

"You _did_ have a concussion though – one that knocked you _out_ ," Hermione said sternly, "That's not a laughing matter in the muggle world, Harry."

"Wait… so…," Harry said, trying to remember what had happened and then, one after the other, thoughts flooded his brain; he slumped onto the bed as he remembered precisely what had occurred earlier.

"I choked," he gasped, "I _choked_."

"Harry…" Hermione began, but Harry was in no mood to listen.

"So," he said, trying to swallow his immense disappointment, but his throat felt heavy and a pang shot through his chest, "I… I got the _worst_ set of battle robes, didn't I?"

Hermione opened her mouth, as if to console him, but then slumped on her seat and stayed silent.

Harry sighed. He recognized that stance.

"Spill, Hermione," he said.

"Harry," Hermione said gently, "You didn't get _any_ robes. You were disqualified from the task altogether – you never actually _completed_ the course."

Harry found himself unable to speak for a while. He tried to process what had happened, but there was no other way to phrase his performance in the first task – he had failed, in spectacular fashion.

Harry tried to take a deep breath, but his lungs refused to draw more air than he needed.

"And… the other champions?" he asked.

Hermione sighed. "Krum placed first," she said, "And Fleur second."

"I… I see," Harry said. He placed his hands on his chest; his heart, which had beaten so frantically before, now seemed to barely pulse in his chest.

"And," he asked softly, "What was it… what happened back there?"

Hermione leaned back in her chair and looked at Harry with a fair bit of concern.

"The _path_ happened, Harry," she said, "The entire _course_ itself was an obstacle."

"What?" Harry asked, startled out of his melancholy.

Hermione nodded. "The stones on that path were imbued with some kind of advanced magic. Basically, whenever a Champion set foot on the course, it transformed and changed shape – sometimes, it became a giant beast of some sort, and at other times, it formed several small beasts that prevented the champions from getting to the finish line.

"It was pretty impressive, to be honest… seeing the path _itself_ change shape like that, and pretty terrifying to see sculpted beasts burst into existence from the very ground the champion walked on. And, I think, the longer each champion took to get to the end, the larger and more terrifying the beasts became. Fleur took _really_ long, and we got to see the course give rise to some sort of terrifying giant… stone… _thing_ that looked a bit like Fluffy… it nearly _crushed_ Fleur to death…"

"And… what happened to me?" Harry asked with a gulp.

Hermione hesitated. "A giant fist erupted out of the road and knocked you out cold," she said quickly, "It was pretty scary; I think your feet actually _left_ the ground, Harry!"

Harry's head felt heavy and he felt like sinking into the hospital bed he had so piteously been laid on.

"I guess it must have been pretty funny for everyone," he muttered sourly, "And Skeeter's probably having a field day."

"Harry," Hermione snapped, " _Stop_ that. So you failed at a task. It's _not_ a big deal – all you missed out on is a fancy looking set of robes; so you couldn't get yourself a _souvenir_. There are two more tasks to go."

"Yeah," Harry said softly, but he couldn't bring himself to endorse Hermione's positive outlook. He had _failed,_ and miserably at that.

Hermione tried to draw him into more small talk, but Harry could barely keep up. All he could think about was how this was the first time in his life that he had _lost_ a contest he had been a part of. This had never happened in his Quidditch matches – even the _toughest_ match of his life, against Hufflepuff in his third year, had ended in a decisive victory for _him_.

And it would all have been okay, had Harry managed to muster a decent performance, at worst, in the First Task. But he had barely lasted a _second_.

He was almost grateful when Hermione had to leave before curfew. She wanted to accompany him, but he _insisted_ on going it alone – he could not bring himself to bear the crowds. Not yet, anyway. So he persuaded her to go on without him. Half-an-hour after curfew, Harry followed suit, after securing permission from Madam Pomfrey, and without taking any detours, headed straight for bed in his dorm, mercifully uninterrupted by any student or staff member.


	11. Forged in Flame

Forged in Flame

Failure.

That was the first thought on Harry's mind as he woke up the next morning at his usual five AM slot, by force of habit, if nothing else. He tried to sink back into his sheets, but he just couldn't find it in him to lay in bed anymore – if he did not get up now, he would _have_ to get up later, with the _others_ in his dorm for breakfast.

Harry sighed softly and got up. He went to the common showers, brushed his teeth in rote fashion and pulled on his track pants with more weariness than usual.

 _What use was all that training? Why did the Goblet even bother to select me? Stupid training, stupid women, stupid goblet… ugh._

He knew what would follow – it was the same as what had come before. In his first year after losing over a hundred points for Gryffindor in one go. In second year, after everyone found out he was a Parselmouth.

Harry went to the Common Room and stared at the still-glowing embers in the hearth, which indicated that someone had stayed up until late last night, perhaps finishing their homework, or making out with someone else.

It all seemed so… _mundane_ to Harry.

He forced himself to get up when a soft chime from the tiny clock above the hearth indicated that it was half-past-five – the end of curfew.

Harry then softly pushed his way through a snoozing Fat Lady, jogged down to the Entrance Hall and finally out into the Hogwarts grounds. He saw, to his relief, that the stands had been moved back to the Quidditch pitch, and that the stone path – that _dreadful_ course – had been removed last night.

He jogged through the familiar green hills, and then, when his dejection refused to go away, he sped up. Faster and faster he ran, until he was practically _sprinting_ across a flat green expanse on the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

That was when he heard the sound of thundering hooves. Harry's head zipped to the side, though he barely slowed down, and saw a very familiar looking centaur.

"Firenze," Harry panted.

"Harry Potter," the centaur boomed, flitting through the trees.

They ran together awhile – Harry thudding along the meadow and Firenze keeping pace at a light gallop. Eventually, Harry indicated they would have to part, for his normal jogging path lay away from the forest. Firenze merely looked at him as they ran alongside each other and panted, "This… is… nothing, Harry Potter. There are things… _far_ more terrifying, and awe-inspiring… than losing a _human_ game. As you shall soon, no doubt, come to find out."

In a few seconds, Harry zipped away from the forest, and Firenze galloped back in, allowing them to part ways.

 _That was weird_ , Harry thought.

Eventually, he managed to look at the watch Lily had gifted to him during the summer vacations. Both its hands pointed at the number six.

Harry slowed down and saw that he had come much, _much_ farther than he had intended. So he turned around and sprinted right back. The students and staff would soon begin arriving for breakfast, which usually started around seven.

 _Time to face the music_ , he thought, but not without some trepidation.

Narcissa quirked an eyebrow at the tremulous little Hogwarts house-elf that had the audacity to enter her room before she could head down for breakfast.

"Awfully early in the morning, isn't it, elf?" she asked.

"So sorry, Mistress, but the other Mistress has been begging to see you, since the other Mistress is to be departing shortly," the little greenish creature replied, its voice aquiver with fear.

Narcissa found her curiosity aroused – it couldn't be Sinistra or another staff member; other staff members would have the freedom to knock on her door without the assistance of a house-elf. And so, she came to the logical conclusion: she had a visitor at Hogwarts – a visitor, who apparently had to leave shortly.

She walked up to the door, smoothed her robes and opened the door to her quarters, only to be greeted by the sight of one of the more obnoxious DMLE officials who had been posted around Hogwarts for the purpose of security during the Triwizard Tournament.

Narcissa frowned at the pink-haired DMLE official – she supposed the young woman in front of her _could_ look gorgeous if only she would shed her _ridiculous_ sense of style, but as of now, the effect was simply obnoxious.

"Yes?" Narcissa asked carefully.

The official smiled, though the curve of her lips was not so pronounced as to be a genuine smile. "I… uh… Mrs Malfoy, I suppose?" she asked.

Narcissa nodded stiffly.

"You look… _good_ ," the young woman exclaimed. Then she flushed and corrected herself, "Uh… I don't… I mean you look good for your age… er… wait, that doesn't sound much better, does it?"

Narcissa smiled despite herself; there was something very amiable about the woman in front of her.

"You find me at a disadvantage, Miss…?" she asked.

The younger woman flushed a deeper shade of red. "Tonks," she said quickly, and then shifted from one foot to another nervously.

Naricissa took a second to actually process the significance of the last name. And when she finally _did_ register what the surname meant, she resisted the tendency to gasp out loud. A raised eyebrow was the only sliver of emotion that escaped her.

"Tonks?" Narcissa asked, "As in, the daughter of Ted Tonks and Andromeda… Tonks?"

The young woman nodded.

"I see," Narcissa breathed. Then she recovered and asked mildly, "May I have the honour of knowing your first name, Miss Tonks?"

Her niece looked slightly angry at that; she let out a quick breath and muttered, "Nymphadora."

"I see," Narcissa said, keeping her face straight with much difficulty, "Andromeda seems to have the same… _knack_ … for naming her near and dear ones, that she always did."

Nymphadora looked mutinous. "And you have the same knack for ladling out insults," she barked, "Mom sure will be glad to know that."

Narcissa frowned ever so slightly. "I meant no insult," she said stiffly, "That was merely a fond reflection, rather than an outright accusation, Miss Tonks."

"Uh huh," Tonks said sceptically.

"What can I do for you, Miss Tonks?" Narcissa asked, trying to mask her annoyance at her niece's aloof attitude. _The least Andromeda could have done was teach her daughter some damn manners_ , she thought.

"My mom wanted me to hand you a letter from her," Tonks said quickly, "Wrote it as soon as she knew I was going to be posted at Hogwarts."

Tonks then proceeded to pull a crumpled envelope out of her robe pocket and thrust it into Narcissa's hands. She then turned on her heel and marched away as fast as possible, not even stopping to say goodbye.

"The pleasure of meeting a long-lost relation is great indeed," Narcissa murmured sarcastically.

She moved to her desk and placed a neat cut along the top of the envelope with her wand. She then cast a few spells, meant to detect wards and curses.

Eventually, after the contents of the envelope had proved benign, she pulled out the letter, smoothed out the creases and folds, and proceeded to read it immediately.

" _Dearest sister,_

 _I still marvel at the feeling contained in those two words I wrote as a salutation. Surely, after being apart for so long, like friends who have been parted for a considerable time, my concern for you should have dulled and, considering on what note I broke away from our family, been extinguished entirely._

 _But here I am, compelled to write a letter to you. And in case you mistake my letter for some sort of attempt at repentance, I would like to state this – I do not repent my actions as far as the man I chose is concerned, nor do I care much for our late aunt's attempts to marry us off to support her antiquated ideals. I am wedded to a great man and have a loving daughter that I care for very much – I am truly happy as far as my married life is concerned._

 _Nonetheless, I do miss the old crowd. Sirius visits often, but he was never really one of us – the 'old' crowd. He always was the black (pun unintended) sheep of the family, hanging around with James Potter and anyone who was willing to abide by his rabid stance against everything that had to do with pureblood customs and rituals._

 _But of all the others, I miss you the most, Narcissa. We might have born been a year apart, I the elder sister and you the younger one, but we shared so many of the same interests, the same tastes. Of course, you had that amazing talent for duelling, while I was more concerned with the arcane arts – enchanting and warding – but there were so many other things – Merlin's tales, Irish folk songs, those fascinating books on ancient magic, arithmancy and its applications… we were best friends, 'Cissa. And I believe I can safely say that I have never since found as remarkable a witch since, who I could confide everything… and I mean everything, in._

 _And I regret our parting of ways – it's been… nearly a decade and a half since I last saw you, but the manner in which we parted has been eating at me all along. I still remember the way you stood, abandoned amid a torrential downpour, cold and soaking and forlorn, after trying, in vain, to convince me not to go against the wishes of our aunt. We both knew I was too stubborn to succumb to your persuasion, but you always were one for duty, and I believe I always was one for passion._

 _And I still remember, with more than a pang of sorrow, the manner in which you recoiled at my parting insult, but still managed to keep yourself from lashing out at me._

' _Cissa, oh dear, dear 'Cissa, I never meant to insult you in that manner, never meant to make you exercise your self-control under such duress. I never meant to resent you at all – if I did resent you, it was not for who you were (a wonderful sister and a beautiful friend), but for who you were not. I now realize that my assertion was entirely unfair – the product of immaturity and a lack of judgement._

 _I resented the fact that you did not fall in love with a muggleborn. I resented the fact that you never created an opportunity whence you had to go against the wishes of your entire family. I resented the fact that you were not me._

 _And now, I realize how blind I was to the other little sacrifices you had made for my sake – how you covered for me on those various dates with Ted, how you lied outright to mother when she caught me reading a letter from Ted, how you protected me from a dozen insinuations and accusations when my affair was finally revealed, and how you were there on the eve of my elopement, trying and failing to convince me not to abandon our family to its madness… to wait it out, while holding out against an arranged marriage, but I was too impatient, too young. I forgot, in my folly, all those instances during our childhood where you had protected me from a severe scolding, or even a beating on that occasion where I broke Uncle Orion's favourite vase. At the end of the day, you bore the responsibilities of an elder sister, and I behaved with all the short-sighted rashness of a younger sibling._

 _And for all of that I am truly, sincerely sorry. I may be a decade and a half too late in my apology, but better late than never, I suppose._

 _I miss you._

 _With love,_

 _Andromeda Tonks_

Narcissa closed her eyes and took a deep shuddering breath as the letter fell from her hands onto her desk.

" _For all your talents, Narcissa, you're pathetic. At least I have the courage to stand up to our aunt; at least I have the guts to stand up to her and tell her I won't marry the wimp she wants me to marry in order to spread her own influence among a few pureblood families," Andromeda Black snarled, her voice carrying over the patter of rain around them, "Wahlburga is never going to change, and our mother is never going to be more than a shadow of her. And none of your ridiculous statements about changing their worldview are ever going to come to fruition. I dare you to try – at the end of the day, mark my words, you're going to wish you had my fortitude, 'Cissa, because you'll suffocate in a cold, loveless marriage if you stay with those fools."_

 _Better late than never indeed_ , Narcissa thought wryly, brushing away the harsh memory, as she carefully took up the letter, folded it neatly, and placed it on a corner of her desk.

Narcissa got up from her chair, though she felt an aching emptiness inside her.

She needed comfort. And with a start, she realized that she had long since associated comfort with… _Harry_.

The murmurs started as soon as Harry entered the Great Hall, his eyes fixed on the floor. He looked up for a moment, and immediately regretted it – the staff table was quite full, and worse, most of the foreign students were already at the Ravenclaw and Slytherin tables. He chose the lesser of two evils and focused on the staff table. Hagrid waved at him and Harry waved back, though his response was less than enthusiastic. He smiled at his mother, and didn't even _dare_ look at Narcissa.

Eventually, he made his way to the Gryffindor table, where his friends were already seated – he observed, with a tiny amount of surprise, that his own seat was still vacant. He stared at the empty seat for a moment, before Hermione beckoned to him, and he sat down.

No one said a word, though Harry could not bring himself to blame them. There was not much they _could_ say. "You tried your best, Harry," would be too patronizing. "Don't worry about it" would be a lie. And there were very few options in between those two extremes.

Harry idly picked up a toast and buttered it carefully, though his knife did tremble a bit.

"Was that just me, or did Harry Potter just walk across the hall _without_ getting hit by a fist?" drawled a loud voice from the Slytherin table. Laughs broke out all over the hall.

Harry flushed.

"Don't be ridiculous," said a loud voice from the Gryffindor table. Harry looked up in surprise – it was _Fred_ that had responded.

"Yeah," George proclaimed loudly, "Harry's a _Gryffindor_."

"And Gryffindors don't _walk_ into fists!" Fred said indignantly.

Harry saw where this was going. With a burst of new-found confidence, which didn't _quite_ reach his heart, he thundered impressively, "We _charge_ into them!"

The hall burst into laughter, and Harry found himself breaking out into a smile as George patted him on the back. Harry immediately felt a burst of gratitude toward the twin redheads. Humour was the greatest healer, they often claimed, and now, he had found out, much to his surprise, that self-effacing humour might be the greatest armour of all.

Ginny, Luna and Neville smiled in relief. Hermione burst into a toothy grin.

"I'm glad you're still in good spirits," she said.

Harry felt a tad lighter, but not _so_ light as to be at ease. "Yes, well," he muttered, though his voice still carried a hint of dejection, "I just found out I'm out of my depth in this tournament anyway. Might as well have fun with it."

Hermione grit her teeth in frustration. "Just when I think you're feeling better…" she ground out. She looked around, but Ginny and Neville were long since engaged in conversation, and the twins were occupied with Alicia and Angelina. Luna though, was watching him carefully, but Hermione seemed to expect no help from that quarter. She leaned forward across the table and placed her hand over his.

"Harry!" she whispered furiously, "Don't _do_ this to yourself. There's more to life than a stupid task in a stupid tournament."

Harry shrugged. She removed her hand from his, looking unconvinced with his terse assent, and he continued with his breakfast.

Harry found that his grouchiness was really difficult to get over. Granted, he wasn't quite as close to exploding at the nearest person who taunted him as he was in the morning, thanks to his own ice-breaker at breakfast, but it still smarted when people smirked at him, or chuckled at his performance in the first task.

Nonetheless, for once, people weren't _quite_ isolating him – but he knew that would only hold till a magazine or a newspaper chose to publish an article ridiculing him. Apparently, the newspaper for the day had merely reported on the first task – he surmised Skeeter must still be so giddy over his failure that she couldn't bring herself to write about him yet. His classes, so far, had passed without much incident; mercifully, there was no Potions that day, which meant that he had not had to face Draco Malfoy, or any of the Slytherins.

He made his way towards Gryffindor Tower, determined to throw himself into homework, though he wasn't really _obliged_ to do homework, seeing as how he was exempt because of his status as a Champion, and there wasn't much homework at all anyway.

Much to his chagrin though, he ran into Fleur as he took the stairs up from the Entrance Hall back to his dorm. And worse, she was surrounded by her schoolmates from Beauxbatons. There was only one thought that lent some comfort to Harry – he didn't understand French, so their taunts flew over his head. He did catch the French word for 'loser' thrown around quite a bit though.

Fleur, however, stayed mysteriously silent. And she was using crutches, much to Harry's surprise. She caught him looking at her and glared at him in turn.

"Iz zere a problem?" she asked angrily.

"Er… no," Harry said. He then pointed to the step her left crutch was about to land on. "You want to watch out for that step. I'd skip over it if I were you."

Fleur paused, glaring at him, but heeded his advice anyway. She placed her crutch higher up, and with supreme effort, and the help of her friends, hauled herself higher up. One of her friends though – a pig-tailed brunette - paid no attention to Harry, and smirking at him, ascended the staircase, only to find the step give way and a set of tiny sliding doors close over her foot.

The pig-tailed girl screamed, and the rest of the Frenchwomen tried to pull her out. Harry sighed.

"Here," he said, as he pushed his way through the girls as gently as he could, and tapped the floor with his wand, murmuring an advanced unlocking charm. The sliding doors retracted and the step slid back into place.

All of the girls stared at him. So did Fleur.

"Your castle is _horrible_ ," Fleur exclaimed with some disgust.

Harry resisted the impulse to palm his face, shrugged, turned on his heel and ascended the staircase as fast as he could to get away from the Beauxbatons students.

Another two staircases up, though, he was impeded by yet another obstacle that caught him by surprise. He made it to the end of a short corridor on the third floor, where he was about to take a staircase to the next floor, but the door to the Charms classroom opened all of a sudden and a slender, but surprisingly strong, hand seized him, _pulling_ him into the room.

Harry plunged his hand into his robes as the door closed shut behind him, but relaxed slightly as he found himself face to face with Narcissa. A very annoyed-looking Narcissa.

"You've been avoiding me," she said archly.

Harry couldn't entirely deny the accusation.

"Out with it," Narcissa said sharply, but with a bit of a tremor in her voice.

All of his frustrations, all of his annoyance at himself, suddenly formed words in his mouth, and Harry burst out, "You've been _lying_ to me."

Narcissa paled. "What?" she gasped.

"You told me that… that the goblet selects the candidate with the most potential for power," he grit out, "Clearly, that was a _lie_."

A short silence followed, during which Narcissa's face regained some of its colour and she relaxed ever so slightly.

"I see," she breathed, "So that outburst during breakfast wasn't _quite_ you recovering from your previous performance."

"Performance?" Harry asked incredulously, "You call my _failure_ a _performance_?"

Narcissa looked slightly taken aback by his vehemence.

"That wasn't a performance," Harry persisted, rage seeping into his voice, "It _would_ be a performance if I'd actually managed to take a few steps along that damn path. Instead, I got punched in the face by the _ground_."

Narcissa, much to his fury, smirked. "It _was_ pretty funny," she admitted at last, with a tilt of her head.

Harry growled. "Glad you found it so amusing," he said coldly, "And glad you finally understand I'm _nothing_ special."

He and Narcissa stared at each other for a moment, his breathing heavy with a mixture of rage, frustration and irritation, and her countenance calm and serene.

And then, out of the blue, her wand whipped across at him, spitting out a set of sharp metallic-looking… _somethings_.

Harry jerked his head out of the way automatically, and whipped his _own_ wand out. The metallic objects – which, much to his bemusement, he found were _knives_ – were swept away by a gust of wind, and they embedded themselves in the door beside him.

Harry stepped forward and then slammed his wand to the side to counter Narcissa's next conjuration – a pair of chains that flung themselves at him. Narcissa smirked, stepped aside gracefully to avoid his stunning spell and _pushed_ at him with her wand. A burst of purple light seared into Harry, who promptly conjured a shield. Narcissa's spell struck his shield and dissipated immediately.

Harry vanished his shield and swept his wand forward to send a spell of his own at her, but Narcissa stopped him with a word. "Enough," she said softly.

Harry paused and looked angrily at Narcissa, who was calmly putting away her wand.

"We're in the _Charms_ classroom, Narcissa," he snarled, "What the _hell_ are you thinking?"

"Oh don't worry," Narcissa crooned, "We're still going to have sex on Flitwick's desk."

Harry gaped at her for a moment. "I'm in no mood for…" he started but Narcissa cut him off.

"The sex comes later, anyway," she said calmly with an elegant shrug of her shoulders, "That little exercise in duelling though? There was a point to that… a point I'm sure you failed to notice, given that you're still angry at yourself… and apparently, at me."

"And what _is_ this point?" he asked through gritted teeth.

"The _point_ ," Narcissa said with an arched eyebrow, "Is that the conjured knives I sent flying at you were travelling faster than the stone fist that erupted from the ground yesterday. And you managed to avoid my knives."

 _That_ was a statement Harry hadn't quite expected.

"Every single time we duel," Narcissa continued, "I try to catch you off-guard with my first spell – you know this as well as I do. And it's been _quite_ a while since my first spell brought you down, love."

"Fat lot of good that did me yesterday," Harry grumbled.

"Stop that," Narcissa said with a snap of her fingers, "It doesn't become a wizard of your calibre to _whine_ like that."

 _That_ stung Harry deeper than he thought it would. He slumped onto the table beside him.

"The _point_ I was trying to make, love, is this," Narcissa continued, pointing at his chest, "You had the _potential_ to face the task yesterday. I don't know _what_ happened last afternoon – only _you_ would know what you did wrong; but I refuse to endorse this ridiculous lack of belief you seem to have in your own ability to face the unexpected."

"The other champions seemed to have no problems with the task," Harry countered hotly, "They are _far_ too good for me to compete against!"

Narcissa frowned. "And what _amazing_ feat of magic do you think the other champions performed?" she asked hotly, "What incredible, powerful spell did they wield that makes you think you're so out of your league when it comes to competing against them?"

Harry was stumped by that question. "Er…" he stammered.

Narcissa's eyes lit up. "You don't _know_ ," she said, "No one told you?"

"I'd rather not think about the first task, to be honest," Harry said.

"Well then," Narcissa said finally, "Allow me to… enlighten you.

"When you were knocked out, Ludo Bagman – who I find to be the most obnoxious commentator in existence today – explained _precisely_ how you were knocked out, from how a stone fist had punched you out, to what enchantments _he_ surmised may have been placed on the path. You were soon carried out on a floating stretcher by a _very_ irate Madam Pomfrey.

"Bagman's insipid commentary though, gave the other champions more forewarning that _you_ had.

"And what _amazing_ scheme do you think the other champions came up with in the few minutes that they _did_ have? _Nothing_. They came up with _nothing_.

"Viktor Krum stepped very carefully onto the path, _despite_ his foreknowledge of _what_ the path could do, and got punched several times for his trouble. Although he managed to avoid hits to the face, he was forced to retreat back to the starting line. He then started casting _blasting_ hexes at the path – it was _confringo, confringo, confringo_ everywhere!

"No flair, no creativity, _nothing_! There was nothing impressive or awe-inspiring about Krum's performance. He got mauled by a few stone hounds, and then got trampled by what appeared to be a stone acromantula, of all things, but he managed to pull off blasting hexes faster than the path could conjure its myriad beasts. And he slipped all over the place like a clumsy buffoon, but luck was on his side, and his clumsiness proved a boon as the beasts kept missing him with their swipes. Eventually, bruised and blooded, he managed to get to that ridiculous battle robe.

"And, for some reason, Igor Karkaroff saw fit to confide in me that poor, poor Viktor Krum had tired himself so much by casting a _third-year_ charm all over the place, that he had exhausted himself magically. Apparently, the figurative _muscle_ that one uses to wield the Nexus was so drained of its potential, that Krum was advised to perform no magic at all for two whole days on the Durmstrang ship. The oafs from Igor's school are trying to keep it on the down low, because of some ludicrous, _perceived_ ideal of masculinity, according to their Headmaster.

"And then there's the arrogant little girl-child from Beauxbatons. If _anyone_ was truly out of their depth, it was Fleur Delacour – she had absolutely _no_ idea what to do, and she had nearly half an hour to prepare for her turn. She just stayed at the starting line, and cast every charm she knew at the path, hoping something would stick. Nothing did – she even threw a _cheering_ charm at the stones. Eventually, the path started throwing beasts at her. Fleur cast some _very_ weak blasting charms at the first couple of hounds the course threw at her, but she found her skills lacking. Luckily for her, the body-bind curse seemed to work fine, so the girl kept throwing _first-year_ spells at the beasts.

"It worked for a while. Eventually, the beasts started getting bigger and bigger and she was woefully out of her depth at that point. She tried to conjure some fire at the sculpted beasts, but it was an entirely useless exercise. _Then_ she tried using a _sleeping_ charm, though I have no idea _why_ she thought it would work. By the time she disabled the beasts, with the help of her pathetic blasting hexes and body-binds, she was already bloodied worse than Krum.

"And then, the path _itself_ transformed into a fifty-foot tall Cerberus. Fleur ran for her life like a scared little girl, and in the _wrong_ direction. The animated stone Cerberus, however, managed to seize her in its teeth - those gashes looked like they _hurt_ \- and flung her right across the little arena.

"Luckily for _her_ though, she landed _right_ in front of the robes. Unluckily for her though, she was so shaken that she _froze_. The beast stomped on her legs and they _crumpled_ – she screamed in agony and had enough sense of self-preservation to reach out for the battle robes. And now, she's on Skele-Gro.

"So there you go," Narcissa said, "Blasting hexes, body-binds and _flukes_. _Those_ were what the other Champions – _victors_ , apparently – had at their disposal."

She scoffed. Harry _had_ to smile at her indignant narration.

"Well?" she asked, "What was it they did that you feel is _so_ beyond your own abilities, Harry?"

Harry found himself compelled to reflect on what Narcissa had just asked.

"I guess I just… choked," he said at last.

Narcissa sighed. "And _that_ is your post-game analysis, Harry?" she asked, "What _happened_ out there? Break it down for _me_ , if not for yourself."

Harry took a deep breath, _trying_ to push away the lingering disappointment that his memories brought with them. "I cycled through my occlumency exercises," he recounted with some effort, "Just like you taught me. I focused on the robes – just the robes."

"You focused on the _robes_?" Narcissa asked, though her voice was gentle. She paused a moment, and then asked him, "Do you think that was a wise thing to do, in hindsight?"

That was when it hit him. Harry sighed. "Ugh," he said at last, "You… I… I guess that was a really stupid thing to do."

"Occlumency is a fine tool for meditative exercises, Harry, and self-introspection," she rejoined, "But it's a _passive_ tool for the purpose of a _duel_ – I've told you that before. If your occlumency exercises keep you from being aware of your surroundings, they're no use at all in a situation where you have to face an _external_ threat.

"Occlumency exercises, in such cases, should be directed towards calming the mind, rather than _focusing_ the mind on a narrow goal, at the expense of your field awareness.

"It's a simple truth, Harry," Narcissa concluded, "But that's not _why_ you choked. You _know_ all of this – you have an amazing sense of field awareness, as I'm sure you've heard several times. What _really_ happened down there was this – you were so intimidated by the situation, so intimidated by the anticipation of what the course was going to throw at you, that you forgot _everything_ you've learnt, everything you've _practiced_ and done _well_ , up to that point.

"The other champions are not superhuman wizards or witches, love," Narcissa said, "But you _are_."

She took a deep breath, as if preparing herself to say something she didn't _quite_ want to say just yet. "I believe in your raw potential, Harry," she said in a soft voice, "But it's a pity that _you_ don't."

Harry folded his hands, brought them to his lips, and blew into them – a reflex action that he resorted to when he was faced with a slightly startling revelation. He found himself incapable of forming words just yet and his throat felt dry.

"At the end of the day, what did you do when the task began, love?" Narcissa asked softly, "What did you do when you were faced with an entirely unknown environment? Did you take a tentative step forward, _expecting_ trouble at every juncture? Or did you charge forward heedless of trouble, and too occupied with your own thoughts to even _look_ for signs of danger?"

"I _ran_ onto the course," Harry croaked, "I ran where I should have tried to _walk_."

Narcissa smiled. "Precisely," she said, "Like I said, love, you have _more_ than enough talent buried in you. But it takes presence of _mind_ – and _that_ cannot be taught. It can only be forged through trial and error. However, I promise you this: we're going to step up our duels from this point on; I'll be damned if I don't help you get yourself ready for every variety of challenge the best I know how."

A long pause followed those words.

Eventually, a very abashed Harry said, "Narcissa, I'm so sorry for being angry at you…"

Narcissa waved away his apology and smiled in a predatory fashion. "Actions, Harry, _actions_ , louder than words and all that," she said, "If you're sorry, _prove_ it to me."

"We're still in the Charms… mmmmffff!" Harry managed to say before her lips muffled the end of his sentence. He leaned into the kiss and with a twist of his hips, _surged_ against her, pinning _her_ onto the desk, with her back arched against it.

"Oh?" Narcissa purred, "So _that's_ how he wants to play? He wants to prove he's _sorry_ by _using_ me for his own pleasure."

"Maybe," Harry breathed. Narcissa smirked, extended her right hand behind her and loosened her robes, even as she snuck her left hand behind _his_ robes to loosen _them_.

Harry _pulled_ her robes down over her shoulders, exposing her corset-clad breasts – he _loved_ that tight corset – and buried his face in her cleavage. Narcissa let out a soft, surprised gasp at that.

"Well, well, well, looks like _someone_ is in the mood for primal relief," she moaned as Harry _munched_ softly along the top of her breasts – his lips _caressed_ them, and he _loved_ how they simply _melted_ before his tongue, the flesh soft and her taste, intoxicating.

He ran his wand along her back, and her corset came undone at once. He growled, and after moving his face away from her heavenly breasts, _flung_ the corset off her, after which he _plunged_ right back in. He _pushed_ his face onto her soft right tit and _licked_ around the nipple, _slurping_ around her sensitive flesh.

Narcissa seemed to be _far_ more sensitive than Lily – she seemed to react with _far_ more passion to every flick of his tongue, her nipples impossibly stiff.

Her own wand then whipped out, though _when_ Narcissa had managed to take it out of her robes, Harry had no idea. He tensed, but the wand merely vanished their clothes; Harry gasped as his penis _swung_ out and _smashed_ right between her legs, onto her _gushing_ cunt.

"Looks like I'm not the _only_ one in the mood for primal relief," he gasped in return.

"You… _fucking_ … _beast_ ," Narcissa choked out as she _ground_ her clit against his shaft. Harry merely grinned and then _jerked_ forward, slamming their abdomens together. His meat _ground_ against her core and Narcissa shrieked.

"YES!" she screamed, "Faster, faster, _faster_!"

And Harry obeyed. He _wanted_ to turn her around, to _plunge_ in, but her wand was at his neck already; so he smirked and _slammed_ back and forth. Narcissa, for her part, _squeezed_ her thighs around his fat cock and pushed right back. Their lips were millimeters away as they gasped and moaned over the other's flushing face, his thick member _lashing_ against her parting pussy.

" _Pound_ me against the teacher's desk!" Narcissa gasped.

"Because I'm such a _naughty_ student," Harry groaned in return – her cunt lips were _spasming_ against his turgid flesh at this point.

Narcissa choked out a laugh. "I can _feel_ it throbbing against my naughty cunny," she moaned, "You just want to _plunge_ it in, don't you, love? Just _sheath_ your naughty, fat wand inside my gaping quim, just _skewer_ me on your massive pole, pound me to mush, bend me over this desk and _fuck_ me, don't you?"

"Oh _fuck_ yes," Harry groaned and he felt himself getting close… _very_ close.

Narcissa _clapped_ her hands onto his buttcocks as he _plunged_ between her slender thighs and drew him into a fierce kiss, her tongue _slurping_ into his mouth as she muffled her scream and her pussy _spurt_ over his shaft, her juices spraying all over the place.

And Harry just kept her orgasm growing as his own pace sped up – his penis _throbbed_ and he grit his teeth to stave off his climax. But Narcissa's moans in his ears, her soft gasps as her cunt just _kept_ spraying all over his meat, the sight of her beautiful face flushed in the throes of her orgasm… they all pushed him over the edge. His cockhead expanded and he spurt out his cum all over the place, _hosing_ the desk in front of him with his thick ejaculate.

Their passionate embrace continued as Harry and Narcissa jerked against each other, his hard flesh rubbing against her silky smooth skin, as they strove to calm themselves after their orgasms. Eventually, Narcissa started shaking against him. Harry looked at her in concern, but relaxed as he saw that she was laughing.

"Something funny?" he asked, his penis throbbing at the feel of her nipples heaving against his chest.

"Oh," Narcissa managed at last, "No, nothing funny at all, except for the fact that you ejaculated all over Filius Flitwick's desk."

"Feeling better?" Narcissa asked, smirking as she watched Harry hurriedly cast multiple scourgifying charms around the classroom.

"You _do_ know the house-elves will clean that up anyway, right?" she asked.

"Uh-huh," Harry said, continuing to cast every other cleansing charm he knew, "Because I totally want the house-elves to know _all_ about this."

"Please," Narcissa scoffed, "I cast _several_ wards around the classroom before we started, Harry."

"Uh-huh," Harry said. He then paused and looked at her for a moment as she put on her clothes with _tantalizing_ grace. "Er… I guess I do feel a little better," he said at last.

Narcissa laughed softly. "I guess that makes the two of us," she said.

"There was… you were troubled by something too?" he asked.

Narcissa faced him as she fastened her robes. She folded her hands and tapped her foot for a moment, as if deliberating over whether she wanted to confide in him, and then said, "I received a letter from a sister I had long thought forever lost to me."

"Andromeda Black?" he guessed. Narcissa looked slightly surprised, but he shrugged and said, "I took a look at Sirius' family chart – I _do_ know she was struck off the Black family roster when she married a muggleborn."

"Ted Tonks," Narcissa said softly, "The love of her life. She's Andromeda Tonks now."

"Is… is she okay?" Harry asked tentatively.

Narcissa smiled. "Yes, she is," she said, "And I believe her letter was an attempt at… reconciliation."

"That doesn't sound like a bad thing," Harry said carefully.

"No," Narcissa echoed, "It isn't a bad thing at all."

Harry raised his eyebrows at her. Narcissa sighed.

"I guess… I guess I always thought I was a survivor," she murmured, and Harry could see that it took her a great amount of effort to keep going, "I may have been trapped in a cold marriage, but I still thought that I… I was not _compromised_. That I had not sacrificed myself in an attempt to _blend in_.

"But after reading Andromeda's letter, I find it very hard to believe what I took as fact before. I'm _not_ a survivor – I'm a passive _victim_. A victim who was… _bartered_ by her family for an alliance. A victim who sat by and did _nothing_ as she saw herself drown in a dull lifestyle, constrained to being a trophy that would be displayed at parties to make a favorable impression. A victim who just… _forgot_ to _live_."

She stopped and looked down at the ground. Harry _wanted_ to say something, but he couldn't quite find the words to express consolation.

Narcissa, however, looked up at him with a smile – a _different_ sort of smile, more serene than seductive, and one he had never quite seen before on her face. He realized that she was allowing him a glimpse of something she had hidden even from herself for a very long time.

"But then I met _you_ ," she said, "And slowly, step by step, I'm learning… _striving_ … to live again."

Harry was ever-so-slightly taken aback. Narcissa was… and there was no other way to describe it – she was _vulnerable_. And strangely, it made her more attractive than _ever_.

"You mean so many things to so _many_ people, love," Narcissa said, "I'm not going to say 'live up to it', because you _do_ live up to it.

"At the end of the day, Harry, I'm no survivor… _you_ are. The pitiful thing is that you keep forgetting that yourself – you keep forgetting your past accomplishments, your past achievements, your sheer _skill_ with a wand. I can barely keep up with you in a duel any more, love.

" _Never_ forget that. You _are_ the Champion of Hogwarts."

Narcissa drew up to him and caressed his cheek. "And yet," Harry said wryly, "I feel like I've hit rock bottom."

Narcissa laughed. "You know what they say about rock bottom, Harry," she said, "It's the strongest foundation there is. _Build_ on it."

A short pause later, Narcissa looked at him curiously. "You still haven't answered the question I asked you when you first entered this room," she said, "Why _were_ you avoiding me?"

Harry looked away. "I just… I just thought you'd be less attracted to me… because… uh…," he said, and felt foolish almost immediately.

Narcissa looked hurt for an instant, before she masked her emotions. "I see," she breathed, "While I _will_ confess to a fair amount of sadness at the fact that you think me so shallow… I'm going to tell you the same thing my uncle told me when I failed to win my first duel _ages_ ago.

"He said: the mark of a great witch, or wizard, is _not_ how she, or he, strives to _sustain_ a position at the top of some _perceived_ social rung; it's how a witch or wizard springs back from a _fall_ off that same social rung that truly brings out the greatness in them.

"You are _better_ – far, _far_ better than your performance in the first task, Harry. The other champions have _nothing_ on you, neither in terms of prowess, nor in terms of _power_. However, I'd rather you _not_ compare yourself to them – I'd rather you stand on your own merit, and on your own terms.

"What those other champions _did_ do better than you did – _all_ they did better than you did – was maintaining a _presence_ of mind. And that's something you _can_ work on."


	12. Weekend Vignettes, Part I

Weekend Vignettes, Part I: An Informative Saturday

"I have no problems with _anyone_ talking to Ron," Harry said, trying to keep his voice mild, as they sped along the third-floor corridor to take the set of staircases that descended down to the Entrance Hall, before said staircases decided to move and make them take the long way around, "Least of all you, Hermione."

"Right," Hermione said, though she still sounded a bit sceptical, "It's just…"

"I know, I know," Harry mumbled, so that Ginny and Luna, who were marching in front of them wouldn't hear him, "But if you're holding out for a reconciliation or something, then I'm pretty sure you're talking to the wrong person. I'm all for a reconciliation. He, on the other hand…"

"I know," Hermione whispered, and then sighed, "To be honest with you, he's not too keen to speak to me either. Spends all his time with the 'boys.'" The last word dripped with contempt and was emphasized by air quotes.

Harry managed to keep himself from calling Ron a jerk, again.

"Oi!" Ginny cried, looking over her shoulder at them, "If you two don't hurry up, we'll be last in the queue to Hogsmeade!"

"Yes, yes," Hermione sniffed, "But we're always at the end of the queue, and we still manage to secure our regular seats, all the time."

"You're forgetting the foreign students," Ginny chided, "They'll take up all our usual spots before we even get there."

"Most of the foreign students have left," Harry reminded her, "Only the champions _have_ to stay at the host school."

"Yes, but the champions have _friends_ ," Ginny retorted, "Who usually come visit them on weekends. Weekends like _this_ one. So keep up, you two!"

"I'm _not_ running down these stairs," Hermione said firmly, "You guys can run on ahead if you want."

"Hermione hates it when her boobs jiggle," Luna added.

Harry gaped at Luna, then gulped and looked at Hermione, who had turned a shade of red hitherto unseen on her face. Ginny goggled at Luna too, but then burst into laughter immediately.

Hermione glared at Harry. "Don't you _dare_ take your eyes off mine," she warned him.

"Er…" Harry stammered.

"And my eyes are up here," she said emphatically, pointing to her face.

"I don't…" Harry said, searching for the right words, "Your robes are too baggy anyway."

"Aw, and does that disappoint you, Harry?" Ginny purred.

Harry was beginning to wish he had stayed silent throughout the exchange.

"Oh shut up, Ginny," Hermione said at last, "And thanks a _lot_ , Luna, for highlighting my growing pains."

"You're welcome, Hermione," Luna said warmly, with nary a trace of sarcasm in her voice, "Though I wouldn't call them growing pains. Growing fun-bags, maybe?"

"Thanks, Luna!" Harry said loudly, as they descended to the second floor, with the sound of Ginny's laughter echoing off the walls.

And then, they turned a corner, hoping that the usual set of stairs to the Entrance Hall hadn't moved yet, only to be greeted by a very disturbing sight.

Neville Longbottom lay on the floor, with his back against a floor-to-ceiling window, as Draco Malfoy and his usual cronies towered over him. On the other side, towards the stairs that descended down to the Entrance Hall, stood a glowering Ron Weasley, and the abashed-looking duo of Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan.

"I said," Ron yelled, "Take your hands off him, Malfoy!"

"I'm not laying any hands on this filth, Weasley," Draco said, holding up both his hands – one of which held a wand - and smirking at the gangly redhead, "Observe: my hands are up in the air now.

"However," Malfoy continued, his voice taking on a menacing tone and his hands dropping, "Who's going to stop me?"

"We are," Ron snarled, even as Dean and Seamus gulped and took a step back.

"We?" Draco asked contemptuously, his smirk growing even more emphatic, "Oh, now who could Weasley be referring to, I wonder?"

Ron looked around, only to notice that Dean and Seamus had long since left his side. Malfoy laughed, even as Crabbe and Goyle advanced menacingly on the youngest Weasley male.

"He means _us_ , Malfoy," Harry said.

Malfoy whirled around and glared at Harry. Hermione took a step forward and unsheathed her own wand, even as Ginny and Luna stood on their tiptoes, as if expecting a skirmish in the narrow corridor. Malfoy was outnumbered and outflanked, and Harry could see that realization dawning in his eyes.

"Fine," Malfoy said. He threw the wand in his hand at Neville's feet contemptuously and then turned, presumably to spit out a parting insult at Harry. However, he paused at the sound of heels clicking ominously through the corridor. Harry whirled around, hoping for an impartial intruder at worst, only to be greeted by the sight of Narcissa Malfoy.

He gaped for a moment at the sight of Narcissa with her hair done up elaborately and wearing incredibly fashionable robes with a cut that seemed to hug her every curve. And he noticed how Hermione turned crimson alongside him, quickly sheathing her wand.

Narcissa smiled at the sight of Harry and his friends, but her smile quickly vanished when she saw Neville getting up from the floor painfully in front of her son.

"Draco?" she asked gently, making her way through Harry and his friends towards her son, "Mister Longbottom? Is there a problem?"

"Maybe," Neville growled, picking up his wand gingerly, just as Malfoy said, "No problem at all." Harry saw a bruise forming underneath Neville's right eye.

"Out with it then," Narcissa snapped, a bit harshly in Harry's opinion, at Neville.

The round-faced boy stiffened and then said, in a low voice, "Malfoy said something very hurtful about my family."

"And?" Narcissa asked.

"I confronted him," Neville continued, stubbornly ignoring Ron's frantic gestures, which seemed to indicate that Neville's plea would fall on deaf ears, " _Without_ a wand. I told him I'd had enough of these insults. And then he pulled out his wand and cast a disarming charm at me."

Narcissa sniffed and fixed her son with an inscrutable glance. Malfoy looked as defiant as ever.

"And what," Narcissa asked, still looking at Malfoy, "Did Draco say about your family that was so hurtful?"

Neville stiffened still further and looked around at Harry, who stepped forward immediately. The round-faced boy took a deep breath, pointed a trembling finger at Malfoy, and said, "It involved _his_ aunt."

A very prominent pause followed Neville's statement – Harry heard the girls gasp behind him and he saw Ron's ears turn red, even as Malfoy… _smirked_.

"I see," Narcissa breathed. She turned her head to Draco and said, in a sharp voice, "Draco, a word, if you please. The rest of you may consider yourself dismissed."

Narcissa turned sharply and marched up the stairs, with Malfoy in tow, who was still smirking obnoxiously at everyone. Crabbe and Goyle slunk away towards the Entrance Hall. Ron paused for a moment and stared between Neville and Harry, before he shrugged and descended down the short corridor with Dean and Seamus.

Harry went up to Neville and asked, "You alright, mate?"

Neville nodded stiffly. He paused for a moment, looked up at them and mustered a smile with what Harry could plainly see was a lot of effort. "I'm alright," he said, "Just waiting for you guys. So… where are we going first?"

It may have been a blatant attempt to change the topic, but they obliged immediately and made their way to the Entrance Hall to wait for a carriage to Hogsmeade.

Harry was greeted by a wall of noise as he entered the Three Broomsticks.

"Told you we should've gone for one of the café shops further in!" Hermione said.

"Oi! Harry!" cried a very familiar voice. Harry peeked around and saw Fred huddled with part of the Cup-winning Gryffindor Quidditch team along a long table near the corner of the inn. By fortuitous chance, there appeared to be six vacant seats at the table, so Harry and his friends plopped down to join the other group, though there was still one open seat left. He nodded to the rest of the gang – Angelina, Katie, Alicia and George.

"Lee and the rest took off," Fred said, pointing at the seats that had been previously vacant.

"Oh," Harry said, "Well, I'm glad they weren't occupied. The place looks more crowded than ever."

"Yup," George said, and pointed towards the other end of the inn, where an annoyed-looking Roger Davies and his friends were searching for a vacant seat, "You were a better option than Davies and his fan club."

"Davies doesn't have a fan club," Katie said angrily.

"Case in point," Fred said, pointing at Katie.

Katie flushed. "I'm _not_ part of Davies'… please… that's not… I mean… he's totally dishy… but…" she spluttered.

"Go on," George said indulgently as Angelina and Alicia started chortling.

"Shut up," Katie said huffily. Then, in a desperate bid to take the attention off her, she fluttered her eyelashes at Harry. "Though Harry's pretty dishy too", she said saucily.

"He was," Angelina agreed, much to George's evident surprise, "Until he ran into a fist."

The table burst into laughter while Harry sighed. "I'm never going to live that down, am I?" he asked, though he winked at Hermione, who looked a bit alarmed when the table had laughed at Harry's expense. She relaxed, though she gave him a puzzled look.

"Nope," Angelina replied, "What are friends for, Harry, if not for making you relive your most embarrassing moments, over _and_ over?"

"Uh huh," Harry said sceptically.

"To be fair to Harry," Alicia said in a more serious tone, "The floozy would probably have flopped hard if it wasn't for the stupid Cerberus that practically flung the robes into her lap."

"No, I'm pretty sure it was the other way around," Katie said, "The floozy was flung _onto_ the robes."

"The floozy? Really?" Hermione asked. Ginny snorted.

"She _is_ ," Katie protested, "Her own schoolmates seem to hate her!"

"And how would you know that?" Hermione challenged.

"That's what they say!" Katie replied.

"Suuure, they do," Hermione said sarcastically.

"Wait," Katie said hotly, "Do you think I'm jealous?"

"I didn't allege anything of the sort," Hermione snapped, "But then again, a guilty mind always pre-empts a true accusation."

"Girls, girls, girls, if there's going to be a catfight," George soothed, "I beg you to allow us the luxury of popcorn and butterbeer."

"Dibs on the front row," Fred said.

"Shut up," Hermione and Katie replied at once.

"Hey, Ginny," said a hesitant female voice Harry hadn't heard before. He looked up to see a dark-skinned girl with incredibly long and lustrous black hair squirming in front of their table.

"Nandini!" Ginny exclaimed.

The girl – Nandini – looked around shyly and then stammered, "I… uh…"

"Lost the others?" Ginny asked kindly. She then looked at Fred and George. "You guys don't mind if Nandini sits with us for a bit, do you? She's in my year."

The twins shrugged. Nandini sat down right next to Ginny, and across Harry, in the remaining empty seat. "Sorry," the girl said hurriedly, "I totally lost Demelza and the others in the castle."

"I plan to join them later," Ginny said, "They said they'll be near Zonko's around twelve."

Nandini smiled. She then leaned in and whispered to Ginny, though Harry caught her words anyway, and judging by his suddenly stiff demeanour, so did Neville. "I saw Draco Malfoy get a dressing down from his mom," Nandini said in a low voice.

"Say what about Malfoy?" Fred asked. Apparently, he had a great ear too.

The table turned to Nandini, who shifted a bit under the attention. Harry sighed and explained, "Malfoy… er… cornered Neville on the second floor, right above the Entrance Hall. We arrived in the nick of time, but so did his mother."

"Ah," George said, "The joys of having an extremely partial mother."

"Something we wouldn't know," Fred said, "At all."

Hermione spluttered, "Professor Malfoy is not… partial. I refuse to believe that."

"Is it just me, or is Hermione in a very catty mood today?" Katie asked in a snippy tone.

"I'm not in a… whatever. I'm sure she gave Malfoy the punishment he deserved, regardless of his being her son," Hermione said.

"No one's disputing her teaching abilities, Hermione," Ginny said gently, "She's an amazing teacher – she's probably even better than Lupin. But I'm pretty sure she's _really_ partial when it comes to her son… you _saw_ what happened on the Hogwarts Express when we were coming in."

"Yes, well," Hermione defended, "That was just one occasion, and she did nothing to Ron and the rest of us either."

"She _did_ punish Harry though," Ginny said. Harry had to keep himself from blushing at the memory of Narcissa's 'punishment.'

"There appears to be a singular individual who can resolve this crisis of confidence in Professor Malfoy," Luna piped up in her usual bland tone, "Nandini."

Fred and George snorted. "Indeed," Fred commanded imperiously, "Resolve this crisis, new girl."

Nandini flushed. "Well," she began, "I was standing behind the statue of that one-eyed troll when Professor Malfoy brought her son into the same corridor. She didn't… at least, I don't _think_ she saw me… but she did tell him what he did was wrong, and all that.

"She basically gave him a five-minute lecture on how a great wizard never derives pleasure from bullying… uh… those 'beneath him' – her words, not mine," Nandini said quickly, even as Neville flushed in anger.

"And then what?" Ginny asked quickly, "Did she give him detention?"

Nandini shook her head and continued, "No. She just let him go. Said she had to go somewhere and that he should see himself to Hogsmeade."

"Oh she's _such_ a bitch," Katie said.

"Is it just me, or does Katie hate every good-looking woman in the world?" Hermione muttered in a low voice, which, luckily in Harry's opinion, didn't quite reach the Chaser.

"She gave Lee an hour's detention with Filch for calling Bole's grandmother 'tubby'," Fred explained.

Hermione looked as if she didn't quite believe Fred for a moment.

"Yup," George agreed, "Right in front of us too."

Hermione looked crestfallen.

"Sorry, Hermione," Ginny said, though she couldn't quite keep from smiling, "Looks like your favourite teacher is a bit partial when it comes to her own son."

"Everyone's flawed anyway," Angelina said casually.

"Professor Malfoy is _not_ my favourite teacher," Hermione said stiffly, "Lily is."

" _Lily_ , huh?" Fred asked, waggling his eyebrows lecherously. George elbowed him and Fred flushed as he seemed to realize that Harry was sitting right there, at the table. "Erm…" Fred tried, "I just… okay, that was so wrong. I apologize."

The girls giggled.

Narcissa closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath as she stood in front of a quaint little cottage. She then opened them and gazed at the lush grounds that lay sprawling on all sides, ornamented with beautiful, rare flowers and aromatic herbs. Narcissa even spotted a few magical flora among them, and she felt the hum of wards that regulated such plants, though her knowledge of Herbology was not thorough enough to know the exact nature of said plants.

Her eyes then went back to looking at the door in front of her. Narcissa took another deep, shuddering breath.

And she knocked.

The door opened to reveal a slightly portly, but good-looking, gentleman who, at first glance, seemed about forty, though one could never tell age with much certainty when it came to wizards and witches.

"Yes?" the man asked.

"Mister Tonks, I presume?" Narcissa asked, her voice hardly betraying her anxiety.

"Yes," the man replied, "Though I'm afraid I've never had the pleasure of meeting you before." He paused and continued, "I _must_ say that you look familiar, in any case. Hogwarts?"

"Yes," Narcissa said softly, "I was a couple of years below you. I… my name, is Narcissa. Narcissa Malfoy, nee Black."

Ted Tonks gaped at her for a moment before he recovered, smiled and opened the door wider.

"I… I'll call Andromeda at once," he said. He then turned to the room beyond the patio and hollered, "Andromeda! You have a visitor!"

Narcissa smiled. "She always hated it when people broke her name up to address her," she said.

Ted looked back at her and laughed. "Aye," he said, "She nearly took my head off with a spreading knife this one time I called her Andro."

Narcissa had to smile at that.

"She wrote to you recently, didn't she?" Ted asked.

Narcissa nodded. She stepped into the house at Ted's urging and entered what looked like a very warmly lit living room with two large couches and a roaring fire.

"She really misses you," Ted said softly, "She may not always say it, but she does."

"The feeling is mutual," Narcissa said warmly.

A patter of footsteps followed her words – Narcissa turned towards the source of the sound, only to be greeted by the sight of a tall, slim, dark-haired brunette with heavy eyelids and beautiful blue eyes.

"'Cissa?" Andromeda gasped. She then smiled and lurched forwards, enveloping Narcissa in a _very_ tight hug.

Narcissa hugged her right back. "Andromeda," she sighed. The two sisters then drew apart after a moment, their eyes glistening in the warm light of the fire. Ted politely excused himself and left the hall.

"It's been too long," Narcissa said. Andromeda smiled, wiped her eyes and gestured to the couch.

"Yes," she said, "It has. Time to remedy that foolish mistake."

"I'm going to go get some drinks," Harry declared, "Can I get something for the rest of you?"

Ginny and Luna asked for butterbeer and Neville asked for a pumpkin soda. The rest of the table had full glasses already. Hermione rose up and nodded to Harry. "I'll help," she said.

They proceeded to the bar to place their order. Susan Bones was at the bar too, placing an order for her friends, and she proceeded to engage Hermione in conversation. Harry tapped on the shelf impatiently, waiting for Madam Rosmerta to bustle over to his section of the bar.

A sudden swish of golden hair to his left startled him, and Harry turned to the owner of the lustrous hair, who, much to his dismay, turned out to be Fleur Delacour. And worse, Fleur was looking at him.

The quarter-veela stared mutely at Harry for an entire minute, before she managed to bring herself to speak.

"I…," the blonde Frenchwoman said, and then shook her head, as if deliberating on _how_ to initiate a conversation with him. Hermione and Susan stared at her.

"The innkeeper's over there," Harry said, attempting to be helpful and gesturing to Rosmerta, "She's the one you want to ask for drinks from."

Fleur looked mildly annoyed and Harry cursed himself for speaking at all.

The blonde sniffed and said in a breathless tone, "My friends and I… we discussed… the event yesterday, near ze stairs."

A deep breath later, Fleur continued, "Zey told me zat I might have been a bit… harsh… in my criticism of your castle."

Another deep breath. "So… _merci_ ," she finished awkwardly. She looked at Harry another moment, before she spun around and departed.

"What was that all about?" Hermione wondered.

"I think that was an apology," Harry said in an equally mystified voice.

"An apology usually involves the word 'sorry' at one point or another," Susan pointed out.

"Well," Harry said with a shrug, "I think that's the closest she's going to get to an apology."

"What was she apologizing for?" Hermione asked curiously.

Harry opened his mouth to reply when was greeted by the putrid stench of firewhiskey. A stout old man stood in front of him with stained yellow teeth.

"Aren't choo that lad from 'Ogwarts?" he asked, and his every breath stank of alcohol, "That lad who ran into a fist for England?"

Hermione and Susan didn't know whether they should look disgusted or amused.

"Leave 'im alone, Bernie," Rosmerta chided, stepping up to Harry, "What would you like, Harry?"

"Just fish and chips, Ma'am," he said, "And… let's see… four butterbeers and a… pumpkin soda?"

Rosmerta nodded and flicked her wand. A tray of fish, chips and assorted drinks floated over to Harry, who waved his own wand in turn and floated the items over to their table.

"Did you just get hit on by Fleur Delacour _and_ a drunkard?" Fred asked in an awed tone.

"Harry must be really dishy," George said in an equally awed tone, "He seems to attract all _sorts_ of people."

"We should take Harry on a stroll through Knockturn Alley," Fred said.

"Ten galleons that he'll get hit on by a hag," George re-joined.

"And twenty that he'll be hit on by a troll," Fred said.

"Ha bloody ha," Harry said.

He had barely distributed the drinks and sat down, when Parvati Patil bustled over to their table with a very important look on her face.

"Harry," she said in her usual excited tone, "Have I got news for you!"

"Ooh, is it the drunkard's floo address?" George asked eagerly and got elbowed for his trouble by Angelina.

Parvati ignored the twins and continued, her voice still disturbingly happy at being able to procure what appeared to be hearsay, "So… did you know Marietta Edgecombe was dating Blaise Zabini from Slytherin?"

Harry had no idea why she thought he'd be interested, but he gamely asked, "Zabini is that tall bloke who hangs around with Nott and Malfoy, right?"

"Yes," Parvati said, "He's dating Marietta Edgecombe!"

"Er… who's Marietta Edgecombe?" Harry asked blankly.

"That's a bit strange," Hermione said.

"I know, right?" Parvati asked.

"No," Hermione said shaking her head at Parvati, "I'm talking to Harry. Marietta Edgecombe is Cho Chang's best friend."

Harry mentally cursed himself – his non-existent, supposed summer affair with Cho Chang had long since slipped his mind.

"So strange that you don't know her," Hermione said in a bland voice, but Harry had known her long enough to know that Hermione was trying to squeeze the truth out of him, at least as far as his summer was concerned.

"Well," Parvati continued impatiently, "Zabini was sitting at the Ravenclaw table with Edgecombe – because they're dating, you see – and a couple of Beauxbatons students sat opposite them discussing the second task!"

"Oh?" Harry asked, perking up.

"Wait," Hermione said, "Did Edgecombe tell you about this?"

"No," Parvati said, waving her hand in Hermione's direction, "I heard this from Hannah, who heard of it from Diggory, who's dating Chang, who was sitting next to Edgecombe. But Edgecombe doesn't know any French… Zabini does, so I think Zabini told Edgecombe, and Edgecombe told Chang, who told Diggory, who then told Hannah all about it…"

"And Hannah told you. Yeah. We got that," Hermione snapped.

Harry was pretty sure his head was spinning at this point. A spot of pity bubbled in his heart for Hermione, who was forced to share a dorm with Parvati.

"So Hannah told me, that Diggory, who heard all about it from Chang, told _her_ …" Parvati said, but Hermione impatiently interjected, "What did the Beauxbatons students say?"

Parvati looked a bit miffed at Hermione's impatience, but the gossip at her disposal was too juicy for her to hold back long. She continued, "The Beauxbatons students basically said that Delacour and Krum already know all about the second task!"

"What?" Harry asked, startled at that revelation, "And how would they know that?"

"Well," Parvati gushed, "Apparently, the champions who completed the first task were given a set of clues that told them all about how to complete the second task."

"And Harry never completed the first task," Ginny finished, "So he never got this set of clues."

Harry gaped at Parvati, who looked supremely satisfied with the effect of her revelation on him.

"Er…" he stammered; he had no idea what to say or do now.

"Harry," Hermione hissed, "You have to talk to McGonagall!"

"What?" he asked.

"We have to verify if this… news… is correct!" Hermione said again.

"I agree with the Know-It-All," Fred said genially, only to flinch under Hermione's glare.

"Yeah," Ginny echoed, and then looked abashed. "Er… I mean I agree with the going-to-McGonagall-bit, not the Know-It-All bit, even if Hermione's a… very well-read woman," Ginny stammered.

"McGonagall's sitting right over there," Angelina said, pointing to a small table in the middle of the hall. Harry turned in his seat and looked over at said table – sure enough, his mother, Flitwick, McGonagall and Hagrid were perched around it.

Hermione got up and pulled him along abruptly, but Harry resisted. "I can always ask her tomorrow," Harry said, as she tugged at his hand impatiently. He had never quite enjoyed the same easy relationship with McGonagall that Hermione did.

"The sooner we verify this rumour," Hermione said archly, "The sooner we can decide what we need to do about it."

And so, Harry, Hermione and an irrepressibly curious Parvati went over to the table their Professors were sitting at. Lily spotted them coming as soon as they were within twenty feet of the table. She raised an eyebrow at Harry, but he just smiled and looked right at McGonagall.

"Professor McGonagall?" Harry asked, approaching the table.

"Yes, Mister Potter," McGonagall asked, "How may I help you?"

"Professor, I just heard from Parvati, who heard from Hannah, who heard it from… uh…" Harry paused, wondering why his brain had chosen to rebel and adopt a Parvati-persona.

"Er…" Harry said, recollecting himself, even as Lily started giggling, "We heard that Fleur Delacour and Viktor Krum – the other champions – received a clue that would help them complete the second task. I was just wondering if that was true."

Lily looked completely thrown off by that statement. So did Flitwick and Hagrid. McGonagall stared at him for a moment, before pursing her lips. She then said, "I suppose you know this already, Mister Potter – but staff members are not allowed, under any circumstance whatsoever, to help any of the champions that take part in the Triwizard Tournament, regardless of school affiliation.

"However," McGonagall continued, "I believe I'm not helping you in any significant way when I tell you this – _yes_ , I can safely say that the other champions did receive a set of clues that would enable them to find out what the second task _entails_. Notice that I said 'what the second task entails', as opposed to 'how the second task can be completed.'"

"Ah," Harry said, "So you mean the other champions may already know what the second task is going to be all about."

"They might," McGonagall said with a crisp nod.

"And," Harry asked, "There's nothing I can do to receive the same information that they did?"

"Officially, no," McGonagall replied, "Since you never quite completed the first task."

Harry felt his stomach sink ever-so-slightly. "I see," he said at last, "Thank you, Professor."

"Always a pleasure, Harry," McGonagall said, dismissing him with a nod.

Harry trudged back to his table with Hermione in tow – Parvati left as soon as she had heard McGonagall confirm her gossip – but not before he heard his mother whisper furiously to McGonagall, "Minerva! Does the second task involve the battle robes in any way?" and McGonagall reply, "Not quite. The champions were given a… separate set of clues."

Harry reached their table and plopped down heavily, even as Hermione regurgitated what McGonagall had told him to the table at large.

"Let me go!" Gornuk cried as he struggled against his human captors.

One of the men, who wore a torn robe and had a scar over his right eye, laughed. "Enough struggling, goblin," he said in a gruff voice, "It's not personal."

Gornuk tried to wriggle out of the grip of the two human males holding either of his hands, but to no avail. "Look, whatever Gringotts is paying you," he spat, "I can pay you _twice_ as much."

"I sincerely doubt that," said another one of the half-dozen humans that had laid an ambush for him in one of the seedier alleys of Sofia, "We know all about the accounts you stole from, and we know that the money isn't quite large enough to make up for the bounty on your head."

"You're all English," Gornuk pleaded, "Don't I deserve mercy, as a compatriot? Or a discount?"

The three men and woman in front of him laughed. "I like this goblin," said the amiable looking blonde woman, "You guys sure we can't keep him?"

"So," the scarred man asked, "How do we do this?"

"Bulgaria allows private bounty hunters," the woman said with a shrug of her shoulders, "They'll let us take a portkey out."

Gornuk struggled as hard as he could, but he had no prayer of a chance against the wand-bearers. He slumped in their grip – he supposed it was a bit foolish for him to have fallen for their bait; they had let him know that a rare wand – once used by a goblin during a seventeenth century rebellion in Russia – was being auctioned in an isolated wand shop in Sofia. And he had seized upon that news – hook, line and sinker.

"Please let me go?" he tried one last time.

The humans laughed again.

And then, a menacing human voice – a female one – burst in upon them from the part of the alley that they had all thought a dead end. "I'd listen to the goblin, if I were you," cackled the voice.

The humans turned as one to face the newcomer, only to relax as a slender, hooded witch traipsed toward them casually.

"And who might you be, precious?" the scarred man asked.

"Someone who wants a word with the goblin," the hooded witch replied, "Not that I'm much for sane conversations anyway."

Gornuk tensed as he felt a _wave_ of power – unlike anything he had experienced before – sweep over them. He noticed the humans flinch. And for some reason, Gornuk felt far less safe than he had a moment ago; he felt he'd rather take indentured servitude at Gringotts over being exposed to whatever tender mercies the hooded witch in front of them could command. At least he could expect some measure of leniency from Gringotts.

"Look, bitch," the blonde woman snarled, "We don't care _who_ you are… we saw the goblin first, and we're collecting that damn bounty. There's six of us and one of you, so scram."

"Ha!" the hooded witch crowed, "So secure in your belief in numerical superiority, aren't we? _Scram, scram, battering ram_!"

Gornuk gaped at the cackling woman. "Are you insane?" the scarred man gasped, echoing his own thoughts.

"That's what they say!" the hooded woman replied and casually drew her wand. Gornuk's captors brandished their own wands at once.

"Think about this, babe," his blonde female captor said genially, "There are less messy ways of winking out."

"I know, right?" the woman cackled and _pushed_ with her wand. A massive gale slammed into them and all seven of them – humans and goblin alike – were bowled over by the force of her spell.

Gornuk covered his eyes as the air around him grew thick with magic – he focused all the magic that _he_ could command into the silver chain on his wrist, and twisted his hand. A shimmering barrier appeared over his prone body, and Gornuk hoped that it would be enough to shield him from the dogfight in front of him.

He tried to move to the side, but stumbled into the corpses of the two men who had held him earlier, their heads blown clean off. Gornuk gasped, cursed and tried to backpedal, his shield moving with him, but he tripped over the dismembered bodies of two _other_ men.

"Who _are_ you?" the blonde woman gasped. Gornuk looked up frantically, only to regret his decision as he saw the scarred man's chest explode outward, showering him with blood. He wiped his eyes and looked at the blonde woman, reeling from the sheer violence he had just witnessed. The woman's right hand was hanging out of its socket, and she was kneeling on the ground, her wand trembling in her left hand.

The hooded intruder laughed cruelly and flicked her wand. A flash of green light followed and Gornuk looked into the empty blue eyes of a blonde-haired human corpse.

The goblin shivered as the stranger approached him, throwing off her hood.

"No," Gornuk gasped, "They… the papers… they said you were…"

" _Dead, dead, dead as a doorknob_!" Bellatrix Lestrange sneered.

"No, no, please, I don't know… I… _why_?" he stammered, frantically crawling away from her until his back hit a wall.

He heard footsteps echo up the alley, coming towards them. Gornuk turned, praying fervently for a saviour, but his hopes were dashed to the ground as Bellatrix yelled, "Barty! What took you so long?"

The man stepped gingerly over the corpse of the blonde woman, and then over the innards of the scarred man.

"Just thought I'd let you have your bit of fun, Bella," he said, "And someone had to keep a lookout for intruders."

"But you missed all the _fun_!" Bellatrix squealed.

"I'm not entirely sure I endorse the idea of such… annihilation… as _fun_ ," the man replied. He then jerked his head towards Gornuk, who was still trembling uncontrollably against the wall. "Now could you be so kind as to get rid of _that_?"

The goblin's eyes widened in horror as Bellatrix flicked her wand at him faster than he could react. A tinkling sound reached his ears and his shield shattered as a blue jet of light sped towards him. Before he knew it, he found himself immobilized, except for his mouth, which seemed free to move.

"Why… why…" he gasped.

"We're not quite interested in you," the man said, and his voice conveyed a fair amount of disgust, "We're far more interested in the wizards you… dealt with at Gringotts."

Gornuk stammered, "But… I don't…"

The man interrupted impatiently, "I'm talking about Vault Seven Thirteen, you _filthy_ little beast."

Gornuk gasped. "But," he tried, hoping his desperate ploy would work, "I don't… Gringotts confidentiality oaths prevent its employees from disclosing details about clients."

"Yes, they do," the man agreed, "But the oaths you mention only restrict the _human_ employees. _Goblins_ , on the other hand, are perfectly exempt from such laws – a fact that is little publicized, for fear of alienating your human clients. But it _is_ a fact I'm aware of, goblin.

"Usually," the man continued, ignoring Gornuk's spluttering, "Conscientious Gringotts employees consider the confidentiality of their dealings a matter of honour. And judging by the fact that the same Gringotts you once worked for has now put a bounty on your head, I don't seem to be dealing with an… _honourable_ … goblin."

Gornuk started breathing rapidly. "And…" he asked frantically, "If I tell you, you'll… let me go?"

The man looked at Bellatrix, who shrugged. He nodded to Gornuk. "It's a deal," he said amiably, "Our business isn't with you anyway."

The man knelt before Gornuk, who was now beginning to hyperventilate.

"So," the man asked, "I'd like you to tell me the last known address of Nicolas Flamel."

Gornuk blurted out an address near Sofia. The man raised an eyebrow at Bellatrix, who immediately snarled, " _Imperio_."

"Let's try that again," the man said, and Gornuk smiled as his mind filled with every happiness in the world, "What was the last known address of Nicolas Flamel?"

Gornuk repeated the same address. The man nodded to Bellatrix, who immediately swished her wand and the figurative balloon of happiness Gornuk had been riding, popped immediately, leaving him cold and gasping.

"Good little goblin," Bellatrix said in a pleased voice, " _Avada Kedavra_."

The world around Gornuk turned blinding green, and then vanished.


	13. Weekend Vignettes, Part II

Weekend Vignettes, Part II: And An Eventful Sunday

"Oi, Harry!" Fred hollered as he panted and drew up alongside the very person he seemed to be looking for. Fred paused a moment as he saw that Harry was not alone - Lily was practically hauling him into the castle.

"Er… are you in trouble?" Fred asked.

Lily smiled at the stocky redhead and said, "Not yet, but I'd like to have a chat with him anyway."

"Sounds pretty bad to me," Fred said with a shudder.

"Oh, perish the thought," Lily said nonchalantly.

"Er… did you have something to say to me, Fred?" Harry asked carefully.

"Oh, erm… don't worry about it… but if you're _not_ going to be dressed down and grounded for the day," Fred said tentatively, "We're all going to be in the Quidditch pitch around four."

"Impromptu Quidditch match?" Harry guessed.

Fred frowned. "Hooch… er, _Professor_ Hooch," Fred corrected, looking at Lily, and continued, "She won't even lend us the quaffle, let along the full set. But, _if_ you're free, feel free to drop by with your broomstick."

"Sure," Harry said, just as Lily nodded and said, "He'll make it."

Fred grinned at Harry and sped away immediately.

Harry relaxed on the couch and pointed his wand at himself. He murmured a spell and a blast of cool air blew over him, giving him some relief from his relentless perspiration.

"You came pretty close," Lily said with a smile, "That stunning spell barely missed me."

"Yeah," Harry said, "But I still lost three of three."

"A very well-fought three on three," Lily said, "That was me near my best, Harry."

"Not quite _at_ your best though," Harry observed. Lily laughed.

"You should be proud of your progress, in any case," Lily said, "You've come a long, _long_ way, especially in terms of spotting and recognizing… and in some cases, _countering_ , my charms. And I don't mean to be immodest – but I'm pretty damn awesome when it comes to Charms."

Harry grinned. "I know that too well," he said ruefully, pointing to the bruise on his left shoulder; Lily had managed to pull off a very complicated charm that he hadn't quite spotted and caused him to trip at every fifth spell that issued from his wand.

Lily merely shrugged and relaxed against the desk. She tilted her head back and stretched; Harry couldn't help but admire her generous curves as she pushed her breasts out at him, though not by conscious design.

"So," Lily said tentatively, distracting Harry from his very intent and admittedly naughty observations, "We never really had much opportunity to talk after… the first task."

She appeared to be on tenterhooks, as if he were liable to explode at any given moment, so he merely smiled at her in what he hoped was a reassuring manner, and said, "Oh, don't worry about it."

Lily interrupted him, still appearing as if she were quite vexed at the idea that she had not managed to make time for him, "I was at your hospital bed till late in the evening, but… there were so many papers to correct, and Madam Pomfrey said you weren't critical… I'm _so_ sorry I couldn't be there when you woke up, I…"

"Lily," Harry said, interrupting _her_ in turn, "Don't _worry_ about it."

Lily smiled weakly and said, "I did leave Hermione in charge though."

"And it was a very capable charge indeed," Harry said with a grin.

"So… about the first task…" Lily said and trailed off.

"I… suppose I was a bit frustrated with myself at first, and a bit disappointed too," Harry said, "But, I guess I get it now. I hit rock bottom, there's nowhere to go but _up_ from here on out, right? And I'm sure as heck hoping to give it my best shot, come next task."

Lily gave him an approving smile. "That's a healthy attitude," she observed, "I'm pleasantly surprised."

"Yes, well," Harry said, rubbing his neck, "I can't really say my… failure… doesn't smart at all, either."

"That feeling shall be dulled in time," Lily said wisely.

Harry shrugged. He and Lily looked at each other for a moment, before he observed, "You seem to be slightly relieved, in any case. Were you afraid I'd be inconsolable, or something?"

Lily chuckled ruefully. "I suppose I was," she said, "And I'm glad your spirits are keeping up. Because I'm absolutely _horrible_ at motivational speeches."

She then looked at him intently and continued, "But, I shall attempt a very short one anyway – Harry, I think you're really, _really_ gifted. There's so much untapped potential in you – and that's something I _sincerely_ believe. The power of the spells you throw around… it's… remarkable. And your affinity for the Nexus is absolutely phenomenal. So… I think you have a lot more… much, _much_ more to give when it comes to the tournament. I really do."

Harry's lips curved into a smile. "Thank you," he said softly. He then raised his voice ever so slightly and remarked, in a lighter tone, "And that's not a _bad_ motivational speech. Not bad at all. It's a bit messy, but I suppose it's inspiring in a very bourgeois way."

Lily giggled. "Everyone's a critic," she sang. Harry laughed.

"Really," he said in a more sober tone, "Thank you. I really hope to do better in the second task."

"Speaking of the second task…" Lily said.

Harry perked up. "Did you manage to find anything?" he asked.

Lily shrugged. "Not in the least," she said, "But I'll keep an ear out for any information… I'm still not too sure I _should_ help you, even if I _do_ find something about the second task."

Harry pouted playfully.

Lily giggled and continued, "However, the other champions _do_ know about it."

"Yeah," Harry said sourly.

"You're missing the point," Lily said, in a fashion that was weirdly reminiscent of Narcissa, "That means _you_ can keep an ear out too."

"You mean… get close to the other champions, weasel it out of them, that sort of thing?" Harry asked with raised eyebrows.

Lily laughed. "Well aren't you the budding super-spy," she said. Then she shook her head. "And don't you _dare_ ," she said, wagging a slender finger at him, "Don't you _dare_ get any closer to the floozy than is absolutely necessary."

"Uh huh," Harry said with a grin, "Don't tell me _you_ have taken to calling her a floozy too."

"Only with you, Harry," Lily said coyly, "Only with you."

"Uh huh," Harry said again.

"Don't give me that," Lily snapped, "I saw you getting all cosy with her at Rosmerta's"

"I wasn't…" Harry spluttered, "What?"

Lily giggled. "Just kidding, Harry," she said nonchalantly, "You're too good a boy to cheat on _me_."

Harry's pants became a little _less_ tight, though the butterflies in his stomach grew considerably and he shifted uneasily. Lily, however, didn't seem to notice.

"So," Lily said in a voice that was too casual for comfort, "I heard that the Chang girl is dating Cedric Diggory."

Harry stared at her blankly. Lily smiled.

"Good," she said in a low purr, "I was just testing."

"Testing for wh… _oof_!" Harry said, before Lily _pounced_ , pushing him right against the backrest of the couch as she straddled his lap.

"Fidelity," Lily panted, grinding herself against him, "But then again, _this_ should be more than enough proof in the first place, shouldn't it?"

She ground down on his penis, then unbuttoned his jeans and unzipped, opening her legs _just_ wide enough to accommodate her lustful frenzy. She then plunged her hand into his boxers, and _heaved_ his cock right out. It slapped against his clothed stomach and Lily giggled.

"There we go!" she cried triumphantly.

Harry gasped as Lily slapped her hands down on his shaft, her left hand eagerly pumping him, even as her right palm _flitted_ over his throbbing crown. And in addition to all this action, she _still_ managed to lean in and capture his lips with her own, her tongue plunging in at the first invitation.

Her right palm cupped his lower head and _squeezed_ , making Harry jump in his seat.

"Oh, you like that, don't you?" Lily teased, her voice a low husky purr, "You like it when mommy plays with your fat, engorged _cock_ , don't you?"

"Yes," Harry replied, and swept her lips into a steamy kiss. He then _pulled_ away and added, "But I believe it's _very_ unfair that you're not allowing me to play with _you_."

Lily's right hand joined her left as she _tugged_ at his penis, making him gasp at the simultaneous pain and pleasure. "Ah, yes, that _is_ an injustice we must remedy, isn't it?" she panted.

"Yes, yes it is," Harry groaned as he tried to ignore Lily's hands whipping across his meat. She trailed kisses down his neck and _bit_ into his shoulder, leaving a possessive, steamy welt on his skin.

And then a high keening sound pierced their wall of passion. Harry started and Lily flinched, her face blanching almost immediately.

" _Dammit_!" she screamed in a low voice as she jumped off him and tried to tidy up her hair. Harry frantically tried to push his penis into his pants, and grunted at the onset of pain. Then, he shrugged to himself and pulled his tee up, letting his hard cock flop against his stomach and covered the top with shirt. He then re-fastened his jeans around his upraised penis, hoping that the cylindrical bulge would not be too obvious.

Lily giggled despite herself. "I suppose that horsecock _is_ a bit difficult to hide, isn't it?" she asked indulgently.

"Why _are_ we hiding?" Harry gasped, trying to adjust his clothes in a hurry and make the bulge less obvious.

"A staff member tripped my proximity charm," Lily said quickly. The door slammed open to reveal, to Harry's horror, none other than the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts.

"Lily," the Transfiguration Professor began and then paused as she noticed Harry. She continued, albeit in a humorous tone, "I hope I have not interrupted a particularly poignant mother-son bonding session."

Harry thanked the stars for the fact that McGonagall's gaze was fixed on Lily, for he flushed almost immediately at the involuntary, unconscious innuendo. As it was, the burden of maintaining a straight face was shouldered admirably by Lily, who managed not to blush, though a tinge of pink did flow through her cheeks for a moment.

"Not at all, Minerva," she said, her voice trembling ever-so-slightly. Lily cleared her throat and continued in a steadier tone, "Harry has a broomstick match to go to anyway."

"Oh?" McGonagall said, looking at him curiously, "I wasn't aware there was a broomstick match at Hogwarts."

Harry managed to lose his blush, but his voice was still unsteady as he said, "I don't think it's a Quidditch match, Professor. Fred said Madam Hooch was… reluctant to let go of the Quidditch set."

"And I hope you _have_ secured permission to use the pitch?" McGonagall asked sternly.

"I guess so," Harry said with a shrug, "We're just going to be doing some flying, I believe."

"As long as you've secured permission," McGonagall said in a tone of finality.

"Of course," Harry said, "I'll be on my way then. Professors."

He gave a short bow and left the room as fast as he could without breaking out into a run, his feet automatically taking him down to the castle doors, despite the fact that there was still half-an-hour to go before Fred's indicated time.

However, he seemed fated to be late; a soft body pressed up against him a few corridors down, pushing him into the nearest broom closet. Harry tensed up, trying to resist as the doors closed and a soft blue glow lit up the inside of the uncommonly large cupboard.

"Narcissa?" he asked, looking at the beautiful blonde pressed up against him, "How the _hell_ did you manage to do that?"

She… _giggled_. "Heard one of the Weasley twins say you were going down to the Quidditch Pitch around four," she said, hastily sliding her hands under his t-shirt, "Thought I'd ambush you when you were trying to find your way there and this seemed like a good spot. Silencing charms, a disillusionment charm and… _ooh_ , what _is_ this, I wonder?"

Harry gasped as Narcissa found his turgid cock _still_ pointing up through his jeans. She laughed softly.

"Well, looks like _someone_ was eager to meet me too!" she proclaimed delightedly.

Harry tried and failed to look less than guilty, but luckily for him, Narcissa seemed to misinterpret his guilt entirely, judging by the curve of her lips.

She _tugged_ at him, drawing rapid gasps and pants from him, as she nibbled on his earlobe. Harry eventually managed to peek through his lust long enough to know that _he_ should be doing something too – so he pushed down and _clapped_ his hands on her arse, pinching it and making her squeal in surprise. He panted once more as she gave him a particularly hard jerk and his lips swooped in upon her neck, seeking out and lavishing her sweet spots with the attention they deserved.

"Won't you allow me… _nnhh_ … to return the favour?" Harry panted between his soft nips, as he felt her silky smooth skin whip across his cock.

"No, not today," Narcissa moaned back, as Harry's hands made their way around and _pushed_ her tits up, _squeezing_ them in dextrous fashion, "Today, I feel like _giving_."

"Oh?" Harry asked, glancing at her flushed face curiously, "Happy… _nn_ … news?"

"I met Andromeda!" Narcissa exclaimed with a wide grin Harry could swear he had never seen on her before and she gave his cock a particularly mighty tug, making him grunt. "It'll take a while for our… relationship… to be fully repaired," she continued, squeezing and _twisting_ her palms around his penis _just_ enough to make him groan and swell, "But… it's a great start."

Harry wanted to say how glad he was, but his thoughts were a mess as he was brought closer and closer to the edge; her hands were _clapping_ down on his testicles with each down stroke and then squeezed up _just_ enough with each upstroke – she had virtually perfected the art of giving him a handjob. Where Lily was messy and downright _dirty_ in her approach, Narcissa was systematic, but incredibly kinky – even now, her thumb flicked expertly along the _eye_ of his penis just as her hands were about to whip down from his spongy mushroom head.

"You're close, aren't you?" Narcissa asked naughtily, trailing kisses down his neck as her hands _pulled_ and massaged, "You're going to _cum_ , aren't you? Oh, what was it you called yourself the last time we met? Ah, yes, a naughty little _student_. You're a naught little student cumming in his teacher's hands in a _broom_ closet, aren't you? _Aren't you_?"

"Yes!" Harry managed to grit out. He could feel it building, even as her soft hands _fucked_ his penis between them, making a wet, sloppy sound echo throughout the confined space. And then, just as he forced another syllable through his teeth – _"Fuck!_ " – he _erupted_ , torrents of sticky white cum _hosing_ out all over Narcissa's hands. Pulse after throbbing pulse followed and Narcissa _squeezed_ him delightfully, still laying a trail of kisses down his neck, prolonging his orgasm with her _touch_ , and coercing every last drop of _bliss_ from him.

"That… was… spectacular," he gasped. He looked blearily at Narcissa, trying desperately to recover from the ambush of lust he had just been subjected to.

And much to his surprise, he saw Narcissa frowning.

"Er…" Harry asked, still panting, "Is… what…?"

Narcissa's expression changed, but Harry had known her long enough to know that _something_ had disturbed her – her eyes, usually chips of ice save when they blazed blue with passion, but now glowing with something _more_ than just agitation, gave her away.

"It's nothing," Narcissa said quickly, turning her face away from him to look at the door, "I just… I remembered something."

She then waved her wand at the door, gave him a quick, but uncertain smile, and left the closet immediately. Harry quickly zipped himself up, cast a few scourgifying charms around the interior of the closet and exited, but she had long since left the vicinity.

Harry wondered what could have disturbed her so suddenly after their tryst and considered going after her, when he heard footsteps coming from one end of the corridor. He turned to the source of the sound, only to see Fred enter his field of view.

"Hey, Harry!" Fred exclaimed, "Just in time for our game of _Broomstick Tag_!"

"Our game of _what_?" Harry asked, his mind still busy with thoughts of Narcissa.

"Broomstick Tag," Fred repeated, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, and said, "Hermione, of all people, suggested it. Said there was a muggle game called… laser tag? And since Hooch won't even give us quaffles, we thought we'd improvise and adapt the laser tag game to _our_ world."

"I've never played laser tag," Harry said.

"Well then," Fred said, beckoning down the corridor, "Allow me to introduce you to our new… invention. But first, were you just talking to our incredibly beautiful, but ultimately partial, Defence Professor?"

Harry turned to face Fred. "Uh," he asked, "You saw the… Professor?"

"Yup," Fred said with a shake of his head, "And _boy_ did she look _mad_."

"She did?" Harry asked.

"Yup," Fred said, "Whatever you said… it must've really pissed her off."

"But I didn't say _anything_ ," Harry said blankly. And truth be told, he hadn't had any opportunity to say much at all.

"Sure you didn't," Fred said sceptically, "First your mum and now Professor Malfoy – aren't you just a little trouble magnet?"

Harry shook his head. "What makes you think I was talking to them only because I was in trouble?" he asked.

"Don't be silly," Fred said, "Why else would anyone talk to a Professor?"

Harry had to laugh at that.

Narcissa slammed her fist onto her table as she thought about Harry _bloody_ Potter.

It wasn't just his presence that was intoxicating to Narcissa – for his presence had a… levity about it that motivated a certain… bliss… in those around him, as well as _loyalty_ , by way of his sincere affection for those he chose to bestow it upon – but also his _potential_ , as she had told him a dozen times before. His was a potential that she had never quite glimpsed in another wizard, or witch, save perhaps her own late sister as well as the likes of the Dark Lord and Dumbledore; the sort of potential that she was shocked had not been discovered and honed by the witches and wizards who lived at Hogwarts and who she considered far wiser than her.

Granted, this… potential, did not quite manifest itself as genius, or even extreme intelligence – while Harry was well above average in his ability to grasp new concepts and put them into practice, he exhibited more street smarts than genuine academic zeal – but she should have thought it obvious nonetheless. Or perhaps his slightly, as opposed to drastically, accelerated learning curve had kept it from others – he did not appear to pick up new spells or charms faster than say, Hermione Granger, who had a truly phenomenal learning curve, and seemed to learn only a bit faster than the average wizard or witch. Nonetheless, once Harry _did_ grasp a spell, he was able to stretch it _far_ beyond the ordinary witch or wizard.

The bluebell flames, for instance, would merely have been a means of creating warmth for a normal magical being, though witches and wizards of Narcissa's calibre were able to use those same flames offensively through practice and much effort. But in Harry's hands, the bluebell flames were a force of nature, a roaring, blazing, frothing _sea_ of fire that would burn everything in its wake. She shuddered to think of what he would be able to do with a truly _powerful_ spell like Fiendfyre. And so far, she was astonished that so few people had seen this sort of potential in him.

Nonetheless, she should have _known_ that it was only a matter of time before his true potential was discovered by another… _witch_.

She should have known something was wrong when she had first felt his smooth, hard body press against her – the _musk_ she had come to adore had been tinged with a quality it had not quite possessed before… a _scent_. The faint smell of a long-forgotten wildflower had lingered in the air, but she had ignored that first sign.

Then, just as he finished in such spectacular fashion, his humongous tower of meat jerking and twitching in her hands, she saw the _bite_. On his shoulder – and Narcissa knew _she_ didn't quite bite so hard, nor in so feral a manner as whoever had inflicted _that_ mark on him.

And that left her feeling far more… empty… than she thought possible. She had long since come to realize that she associated Harry with all that was _passionate_ and _serene_ in her world, but it still astonished her that the thought of… _losing_ him provoked far more passion than she had supposed she was capable of.

She smashed her fist against her table again and stiffened in her chair, her blue eyes glaring at the far wall.

He was _hers_. That was the way she had always seen it… and at some point, he had become _more_ than a possession she treasured, _more_ than just a fling, _more_ than just a friend. He had become a _lover_ – and that was not a word she used lightly.

And the thought that he may have enjoyed the attentions of someone far younger, far more beautiful, and far more… _no, no, no, no no. No._

Narcissa slumped in her chair, the memory of that _mark_ – that dreadful mark and that horrible scent – burning itself into the forefront of her mind.

She _trembled_ in… pain? Sorrow? Desire? Anger? Hatred? She had never felt _this_ much emotion since Andromeda had been so painfully removed from her.

And what _could_ she do if he _had_ strayed? Was there any use confronting him? Had she ever let him know, other than through subtle cues that he was too perhaps too young and too raw to grasp fully, that she considered them an exclusive couple?

She couldn't _bear_ the thought of him twining with someone _else_. It wasn't true, it _couldn't_ be true, she did not _want_ it to be true…

Narcissa's breath escaped her in a shudder as she realized a fundamental truth – she had _never_ been as vulnerable to emotional pain as she was now, and it was a startling epiphany.

And she wouldn't, _couldn't_ allow this sort of vulnerability to persist. She had to flee… flee far, far away from it.

Because that was what she always did.

Hermione leaned against the rock and touched her feet to the placid surface of the lake. A giant tentacle rose into the air a hundred feet from her and dipped back into the water, sending mild ripples across the lake.

"Hermione," Luna Lovegood said, perched to her right, "May I ask you a question?"

Hermione stretched her arms out and wiggled her feet as tiny fish flitted back and forth between her toes. "Sure," she said lazily.

"Do you… do you think I'm… weird? In a _bad_ way?" Luna asked, her voice trembling ever so slightly.

Hermione looked at the blonde girl curiously. Her gaze softened and she said, after a moment's deliberation, "I… suppose I might have thought that at first. I'm not sure I should say this… but Harry seemed to like you as soon as you _spoke_ to him – he thinks you're quirky and all that, but I didn't quite think that. I _still_ think you're a bit… bonkers, Luna, especially when it comes to your… magazine and its claims. But honestly? I think there's far more that's endearing about you than alienating."

Luna digested her words for a moment and then smiled benignly. "I'm glad," the blonde said, "Because, I don't think I _want_ to change."

"Don't be ridiculous," Hermione snapped, "You don't need to change at the whims of others anyway. If you do want to change, let it be for your own satisfaction, rather than to make yourself acceptable to anyone, least of all to _me_."

Luna's smile became more wistful than serene. "I'm not sure I'm capable of changing at all, Hermione," she said in a voice that was dangerously calm, "The Mind Healer who tried to treat me after my mother died told me I'd always be a bit… different. That I'd always think in a fashion that… I think she called me 'non-linear'."

Hermione looked startled. "Luna," she said in a very soft and small voice, "I'm so sorry. I had no idea your mother… I had no… I'm sorry."

Luna stared at Hermione. "Harry didn't… he didn't tell you?" she asked, a tinge of curiosity colouring her normally bland voice.

"No," Hermione said, smiling, "But that's just like Harry – trust _matters_ to him."

"Is there… something between you two?" Luna asked suddenly.

Hermione stared at her. "If I were so inclined, I'm sure I'd wish there _were_ something between us," she said, considering her words carefully, "But I'm _not_ so inclined."

Luna stared at her intently, and then smiled. "I thought that would be the case," she said, her voice more satisfied than surprised. The Ravenclaw then looked away, a faint smile still creasing her face as she stared over the lake.

Hermione looked intently at the girl, then shrugged and closed her eyes.

"Did you know you have incredibly pretty feet?" Luna asked in a shy voice.

Hermione smirked, not quite managing to keep her blush at bay.

Harry smoothly avoided the burst of light from George as he laughed, feeling the wind sweep through his hair for what felt like the first time in ages and twirled his broom around on the spot, shooting a rapid spell back.

Not surprisingly, Hermione's suggestion that they use an ancient, but quaint, spell to "paint" each other a luminescent red, had been approved of with zeal – the players of the opposite teams were to attempt to "tag" each other and the players who were "tagged" would leave the game for the duration of ten seconds. And all of this took place as they attempted to "capture the enemy's flag" – another of Hermione's suggestions, where the flag was an elaborately carved bronze staff with a red banner for Fred's team and an equally grandiose bronze pole and purple banner for George's team (and both transfigured by Harry, much to his schoolmates' delight, and surprise).

Harry's spell struck George, much to the stocky redhead's chagrin, and George dutifully exited the ground, glowing red. Fred whooped triumphantly. Harry then looped around Dean's spell and laughed again as he wove his way through to the purple flag on the opposite end of the pitch.

And for some reason, just as Harry dodged two jets of light by swirling between them, the game seemed to freeze around him. He looked around, scouring for an opportunity to seize the flag, when he saw that every male player was staring at the same point on the ground, while all the female players were glaring at it.

"Harry?" Fred asked, sidling up to him on his Comet, "You want to take this one?"

Harry looked to where Fred had pointed and saw a shimmering golden mane that could only belong to a single person. He swooped down gracefully and alit right in front of Fleur Delacour, who was staring at the crowd above her uncertainly.

"Fleur?" he asked. She started and then relaxed as she looked at him.

"I…" she started, "I thought you were… I thought… my friends did not think it… necessary to bring brooms. But I did."

She held out her Firebolt to him unsurely.

"Okay," Harry said slowly.

"I was… I just saw people flying 'ere… and thought I could just fly around for some time by myself," Fleur stammered, "But I did not think… I did not think you were flying togezzer… I should go."

Fleur turned briskly on her heel when Harry called out, "Wait! Fleur, er… would you… would you like to join us?"

She turned and stared at him for a few seconds, making him immensely uncomfortable. But Harry was ever-so-slightly mollified by the fact that she wasn't, at the very least, glaring at him anymore.

"I… would like zat," she said at last, though she still appeared ready to take off if he looked the least bit annoyed at her assent. She then gestured to her broom with a graceful nod of her head. "But are you sure…?"

"Oh, the Firebolt is not a problem," Harry said with a friendly grin. "Just hop on and hop up."

He spotted George waving at him frantically and his grin grew wider. "Looks like you're on George's team," Harry said, "He looks… eager to teach you the basics of this game."

Fleur stared at him weirdly, before she nodded briskly and marched towards a _very_ pleased looking George.

"You're _such_ a traitor," Fred grumbled, skimming the ground on his broomstick, "Why'd you send her towards my _less_ handsome twin?"

"Because I'm on your team already," Harry said nonchalantly.

"Harry, you're very handsome, untouchable on the field, the reason we're winning, and I'm flattered and all that… but you're not exactly my type," Fred replied.

"I'm talking about her _broomstick_ , you ninny," Harry said.

Fred snickered. "I knew Fleur's wand was very, _very_ pretty," he chortled.

"Oh, shut up," Harry said blandly, pointing at Fleur, "She's got a Firebolt."

"Oh," Fred said, with dawning comprehension as he finally noticed the broom in Fleur's hand, " _Oh_. Right. That. Didn't quite get around to looking at that."

"Figures," Angelina said, landing next to them, "So what do we do now? Best we've all got are Nimbus Two Thousands – mine, and Harry's. And George has a bloody… _Firebolt_ … on his team now. The floozy must be _rich_. Hot _damn_ , the things I could do on a _Firebolt_."

"Well, you might just get your chance," Harry said leadingly.

"Huh?" Fred and Angelina asked at once, whipping their broomsticks around to face him.

Harry pointed his wand at his Nimbus Two Thousand and banished it into the shed. He then held out his wand, concentrated and thought, _Accio Firebolt_!

"Er… are you hoping your constipation will be cured by holding your wand out?" Fred asked blankly.

"He's performing a non-verbal spell, you idiot," Angelina said with a pained sigh, "One that obviously takes a lot of concentration."

"Ah," Fred said, "I just thought his bowels turned to rock from the look on his face." He then perked up. "Since when do you know how to perform non-verbal spells, Harry?"

"Started practising this year," Harry said with a shrug.

"Harry," Angelina said in an awed voice, "That's prettyadvanced magic. Stuff that's supposed to be two years ahead of you, at the _least_."

He shrugged again. A golden streak announced his Firebolt's arrival. Angelina and Fred gasped.

"Merlin!" Angelina exclaimed excitedly and Ginny echoed her sentiments as she landed right next to Harry.

"When the hell did you get your mitts on _that_?" Fred asked, gaping at the Firebolt.

"Present from Sirius," Harry said with a modest shrug, "Didn't really ask for it, but you know Sirius…"

"Merlin!" Fred echoed, "Do you think Sirius would adopt me if I begged really, _really_ hard?"

"Oi!" Seamus yelled, "Is that a _Firebolt_?"

Harry sighed as everyone on his team clustered around him, admiring his broomstick. "Go figure," Harry said to Angelina, "The only thing that could distract people from the sudden appearance of a quarter-veela is the sudden appearance of a brand new broomstick."

"Not just _any_ broomstick," Angelina retorted, "A _Firebolt_. I'd take the Firebolt over the floozy any day of the week."

"I don't know, Angie," Fred said with a grin, finally handing the broomstick back to Harry, "I wouldn't say no to either. In fact, it's becoming increasingly hard for me to distract myself from the mental image of Fleur wriggling on _top_ of the Fireb…"

"Not. Another. Word," Angelina _and_ Ginny grit out. Harry laughed.

The game started all over again soon with re-shuffled teams.

"Guys, _focus_ , _please_!" Harry pleaded as Fleur scored yet another point for George's Gelatinous Geckos – the name being George's idea.

Angelina practically snarled, drawing up to him. "And I was wondering why George selected mostly women for his team," she grumbled, "You boys are _useless_."

"Hey!" Harry said, wounded by her words.

Angelina palmed her face as Fred actually swerved _out_ of a grinning Fleur's way as she swept into their side of the pitch. Harry groaned.

"Okay, screw this," Harry said as Fleur flew past a drooling Seamus and grabbed their red flag. He zoomed towards Fleur, who smiled and wove right behind a gaping Dean. Harry cursed, barrel-rolled underneath Dean and made his way towards Fleur, who had gained some altitude on him. She swerved to the right, avoiding Harry's red jet of light and snapped a spell right back, which he avoided with ease. Harry swept up, swooping past Fleur and shot a spell just as he ascended above her, but her senses were too keen for him to take her by surprise and she avoided his sizzling red jet by descending on her broom.

A grinning Katie and Alicia cut him off and he traded a few colouring spells with them, all three of them weaving around each other skilfully. Angelina managed to flank them though and landed a spell on Katie, who pouted and took off towards the end of the pitch. Alicia ducked underneath Angelina's next spell, but Harry had anticipated her move and tagged her out.

He then sped towards Fleur, who was now looping back and forth to avoid a furious Angelina's onslaught. He marvelled at the fact that not _one_ of his male team members – which was everyoneon his team except Angelina – came in to help even when their flag was in Fleur's possession. The quarter-veela looped right between the goal posts, twenty feet from her own flag and dangerously close to scoring yet another point. Angelina groaned in frustration as George tagged her.

Harry, however, crouched against his broom, making his profile as small as possible as he twirled through the middle hoop at George's end and then charged _straight_ down. Fleur was _inches_ away from her flag. Harry snapped his wand down and his spell struck Fleur seconds before she was about to touch the red flag against her own; a cry of frustration escaped the beautiful blonde as the flag disappeared from her hands and reappeared at the other end of the pitch. However, she wasn't quite tagged out – a slight modification to the rules meant that a flag-carrier would only be deprived of the flag when 'tagged,' as opposed to cast out of the pitch for ten seconds.

Harry, however, grinned and continued his charge. He snapped his broom up, making a _cracking_ sound as his Firebolt whipped up right before it touched the ground and he grabbed the purple flag. He then flicked his wand and 'painted' George, who was charging straight at him, simultaneously swerving an inch to the right to avoid the spell George had cast before he was tagged out. He swept between Cho Chang and Bennett, who both missed him with their spells.

A sizzling jet of red light shot out in front of him and Harry jerked his broom up, hurtling towards the sky. He glanced over his shoulder, only to see a very flushed-looking Fleur chasing him, and grinned. He hooked his foot upwards, ahead of his body and swivelled, whipping his Firebolt around and abruptly altering his trajectory so that he flew right at the ground, and at _Fleur_ , instead of up towards the stars. Fleur's eyes widened and she jerked her broom to the side instinctively as he sped past her, grinning from ear to ear.

She growled and chased after him, sweeping towards the ground, long blonde hair streaming behind her like the halo of a comet. Harry weaved from side to side to avoid the occasional jets of light from Fleur and then swept upwards in a steep diagonal climb, with Fleur banking hard and slowing as she tried to follow in his wake. He effortlessly avoided Robins' desperate jet of light, flew around Katie, whose spell came dreadfully close to tagging him and touched the purple banner to their own red flag, scoring a point for Fred's Flaming Flamingos (a name the entire team was extremely embarrassed about, save their captain).

"So," Fleur said, as she landed next to Harry, who looked up in surprise at the happiness that infused her voice.

"So," he replied.

"Looks like your team lost," Fleur said, her face still flushed from her high-speed antics, "Despite your best efforts."

"Looks like George chose his team well," Harry replied with a shrug.

Fleur laughed – a silvery, tinkling, immensely pleasant sound that stopped too abruptly for Harry's liking. Fleur looked slightly embarrassed at her relatively effusive show of pleasure. "Sorry," she said breathlessly, "I… I 'ave to say… I quite enjoyed myself."

"I'm glad," Harry said with a grin, "At least that's one thing you shall remember fondly when you leave dear old Hogwarts."

Fleur blushed. "I," she stuttered, "I have not done much to show my gratitude for your 'ospitality, have I?"

"Eh, it's alright," Harry said genially, "I kind of complain about the castle too, especially when Peeves starts slinging dungbombs around our dorm."

Fleur shuddered. "Zere are no poltergeists at Beauxbatons," she started in a superior voice, and stopped immediately. She sighed. "I do zat too often, don't I?"

" _Oui_ ," Harry said with a grin and she started. "But like I said, it's alright. Your school sounds delightful – I'd really like to visit it someday."

Fleur's eyes lit up for a brief second, before she masked her delight. "Beauxbatons is wonderful," she said, her voice warm and sincere, "I wish we were hosting ze cup, for it would have been a _beautiful_ tournament."

"I suppose the lack of poltergeists really does go a long way," Harry said wryly. He then looked over his shoulder at the twinkling lights spilling out of the grand old castle sprawling behind him. "But no matter how beautiful the grass is on the other side… home is _home_ , right?"

He turned back around, only to see Fleur looking at him intently.

" _Oui_ ," she said at last, "I suppose it is."

"Fleur!" a female voice called from the edge of the pitch. Fleur turned towards the silhouette and seemed to recognize it immediately.

She then turned to Harry and nodded at him, her lips quirking into a faint smile. "I suppose it is time to say farewell, Harry Potter," she said graciously, with a very formal bow. Harry returned the gesture immediately, bending at the hip. Fleur smiled. " _Au revoir_ ," she said, turned on her heel and marched towards her friend at the end of the pitch, her long, lustrous hair weaving an enticing trail behind her.

"Harry," Fred said, laying a brotherly hand around his shoulder, "I never thought I'd ask this of you… but, do you happen to give lessons on attracting the opposite sex?"

Harry _had_ to laugh at that.

"Oh, _fine_ , I'm coming!" Perenelle shouted as she hurriedly cancelled her heating charm and made her way through the short aisle from the kitchen to the front door.

She unlatched the lock and opened the door, only to be greeted by what appeared to be a simpering saleswitch.

"Sorry," she said briskly, "I'm _really_ busy today to buy, or even see, your products."

"Oh, but I'm not here to _sell_ anything," the brunette woman whispered, her eyes practically _glowing_ with the sort of delight that set Perenelle on edge.

"Irene Gossamer," the woman drawled, "That's what they told me your name was, but I couldn't believe them; it's _such_ a weird name, isn't it?"

Perenelle smiled uncomfortably.

"But then," the woman said in a breathless tone, "I thought to myself: the name could be a _pseudonym_! For say… _Perenelle_?"

Perenelle whipped her wand out as soon as she heard the woman say 'pseudonym', but she was too late. The brunette woman disarmed her and _slammed_ her shoulder into Perenelle's chest, sending her reeling into the entrance area. A flash of silver followed, but Perenelle grasped the woman's wrist and pulled, swerving out of the way so that the woman was sent flying into her couch.

Perenelle glared at the intruder and smirked at the long silver knife the woman held in her grip.

"Foolish little _pest_ ," Perenelle snarled, "I hope you know enough of our history to comprehend the idea of a _knight_. I was a knight for three _centuries_ , child. You _insult_ me by attacking me with a knife."

"Good," the woman cackled, springing back to her feet and smoothing her robes with her spare hand, "That means I'll be tested… for once."

Perenelle could not believe the woman's arrogance and longed to see it wiped from existence. She started to move towards the brunette intruder, but a flash of red from the dining hall checked her advance.

The jet of red light burst upon the woman, but a shimmering shield sparkled into existence around her.

"Bellatrix," chided a male voice, startling Irene, who swivelled on the spot, "Stop playing around and help me deal with her husband. _She_ isn't the threat here."

Perenelle felt positively _insulted_ and fumed.

She turned to the woman and smirked as she saw who else had just made an appearance in their living room. The woman – Bellatrix – looked over her shoulder, only to be greeted by the sight of Perenelle's husband – Nicolas Flamel himself.

"How _dare_ you intrude upon our peace!" he thundered and a purple-hued spell burst forth from his wand, but the male intruder circled Perenelle and quickly cancelled the spell with an advanced shield.

"Bellatrix," the man warned.

"Oh shut it and let me have some fun, Barty," Bellatrix squealed.

The man – Barty – traded spells with Perenelle's husband as Bellatrix charged forward, her knife whipping out at the last moment. Perenelle deflected the blow with her right hand, slapping her palm onto Bellatrix's hand and turning out of the way at the last minute. She ducked under Bellatrix's follow-up thrust, rolled towards the mantelpiece and muttered a few words to activate the right set of runes. A sword materialized right above her and she seized it. She swung it around, only to be met with _another_ sword.

"For a woman who's supposedly on her deathbed," Bellatrix crowed, leering at her, "You're in _fine_ shape, ma'am."

Perenelle snarled and _pushed_ , sending Bellatrix staggering back a few paces. Apparently, the woman's knife was not merely a knife – it seemed capable of changing shape to suit its owner's needs.

A dirty brown spell barely missed Perenelle, startling her out of her observation of her enemy.

"Nicolas!" she exclaimed.

Her husband nodded at her and retreated into the dining area, Barty close on his heels.

"Now, _you_ ," Perenelle snarled.

Bellatrix laughed delightedly. And charged again.

Their swords met in a flash of sparks. Bellatrix swept her foot out, slamming into Perenelle's mid-section and sending her bouncing painfully against the mantelpiece.

"Looks like the rules have changed, love!" Bellatrix shrieked.

Perenelle snarled and blocked the dark-haired woman's next blow, pushing the woman's sword down with her own. She switched her grip on her own sword and smashed the hilt towards Bellatrix's face, but the woman was too quick. Bellatrix jerked her head out of the way and smashed her elbow into Perenelle's side, sending the Flamel matriarch staggering sideways.

"So… what exactly did they teach you at knight school?" Bellatrix taunted, "How to _fall_?"

"You little _worm_!" Perenelle screamed as she thrust her blade towards Bellatrix's mid-section, only to be parried by the woman's sword. A thudding sound broke out from the kitchen, followed by a man's scream.

Perenelle was stopped from identifying the voice by Bellatrix's counter-move; she barely had enough time to block the blade descending towards her before Bellatrix pushed at Perenelle with her shoulder, forcing her back a step.

By this time, Perenelle had realized that she was dealing with a true prodigy – Bellatrix was definitely no amateur, and seemed to have mastered a style of swordplay that Perenelle couldn't quite comprehend at the moment. Her movements were _too_ erratic, too unpredictable – her blade swishing one way at one moment, and then curving gracefully in another direction the next – for Perenelle to anticipate where the next blow would land.

And then, the dark-haired sorceress thrust her blade right at the Flamel matriarch, in a manner reminiscent of Perenelle's earlier move. She brought her blade around to parry Bellatrix's lunge, but to her immense dismay, her opponent's sword vanished. Perenelle felt a burst of horror as Bellatrix swirled around, whipping out her newly reformed knife in an impossibly fast backhand. Perenelle dropped her heavy sword and grasped Bellatrix's left arm with both her hands, trying to halt the momentum of the gleaming knife, now inches from her neck, and managed to do so, for a while, before she realized her mistake by way of Bellatrix's triumphant laugh.

"Sword," Bellatrix chanted, and the knife grew. A gasp escaped Perenelle and her vision went dull grey for a moment as blood spurt from her neck.

"No," she managed to gasp, before her body spasmed in pain and her world turned white… then faded to oblivion.

Nicolas Flamel looked at the wizard in front of him in contempt as he banished the man out of his dining room. The man – Barty, according to his female companion – flew right into the living room and crashed into a wooden chair.

Nicolas advanced into the hall. "Perenelle?" he asked, his ears registering the absence of sound in his living room.

A blunt object flew at him, blazing a trail of red. Nicolas spun on the spot and pushed the object out of the way with his wand, letting it fall onto the floor two feet away from him. Instinctively, he looked for the source, but saw only the brunette – Bellatrix – leaning casually against his mantelpiece and twirling her wand with an insufferable smirk on her face. She nodded towards the object he had just deflected. Keeping a wary eye on Bellatrix, he glanced at the fallen thing she had flung at him, intending for his gaze to be brief… but, ultimately, he found himself unable to look away.

 _Horror. Pain. Grief. Rage._ A burst of emotions swirled within him. Six centuries of love. Over sixty decades of bliss. All gone in a brief moment, his wife's decapitated head a most dreadful signifier of his loss.

A sound – a deep, sorrowful cry of pain - that Nicolas didn't know he could emit issued forth from his throat, filled with such potent distress that it startled even his wife's murderer. He slumped to his knees and stared at his wife's frozen face, his grief still too raw to give him any relief through tears or through rage.

"It's always a pity," the murderer said, her voice somehow conveying an emotion akin to sympathy, "To see something so beautiful leave the world after it enriched our lives for so long."

For a moment, the woman sounded _sane_ , almost… _sorry_ , but that moment passed and Nicolas felt his sorrow turn to anger at the sound of her voice.

"You _dare_ ," he growled, every syllable quivering with rage, "You _dare_ desecrate her body… you _dare_ to come into _my_ home and desecrate my wife's… you little _worm_!"

A torrent of magic issued forth from his wand, the sheer force of the spell so fearsome that Barty jumped behind the couch to cower from it, but Bellatrix did not budge. She stood her ground and with an ear-splitting grin slammed her wand down, sending a spell of equivalent force right back at him. The two waves of magic met and a tremendous _boom_ shook the house. Nicolas staggered back, still seeing red and barely pausing in his onslaught.

He conjured a great ball of fire and sent it at Bellatrix, but she countered it with a massive fountain, which she then transfigured to icy shards that threw themselves at him. He pushed out, and a wave of heat met her shards, turning them to steam, which then accumulated to form a dark grey phoenix-shaped cloud that swooped at Bellatrix. But she cancelled the entire conjuration with a cackle and in a flash, jerked her wand down. An arc of white light burst out at him, but he stepped to the side, sending a crackling purple arc of light surging towards her in return.

She met the arc with a shield, which to his dismay, absorbed his spell with ease.

"You're good," she said, "But you're no Dumbledore."

Nicolas merely cried out inarticulately in rage as he pulled with his wand and the entire ceiling around her came crashing down, but she pushed up with her magic, reducing the debris from the cracked and falling ceiling to dust. Then, with a jerk from her wand, the dust seemed to solidify and surge at him, taking the form of an enraged sandy-brown stag.

Nicolas let loose a spell of his own and the stag burst into pieces, covering all of them with sawdust. He summoned a shield into existence just as he saw Bellatrix push out with her wand.

And that was when he knew _pain_. Pain that didn't quite compare to the raw ache of Perenelle's death, but it was a pain that left him incapable to defend himself, and that left him screaming his lungs out. He twitched, his wand falling out of his hand and crumpled onto the ground.

A crack sounded throughout the hall and the pain subsided almost immediately, allowing him to think, to _feel_ , once more. He realized he had just been struck with the Cruciatus.

"The Master was right," Barty said, as he stepped around the couch, "You are the most powerful witch I've ever seen in my life."

"And don't you forget it," Bellatrix preened.

Nicolas glared up at her as he gingerly got onto his knees. The sorrow of Perenelle's… _no, he could not even bear to think of it_ … was still threatening to burst out of his chest, but he refused to show weakness in front of _them_. Barty summoned the ancient wizard's wand towards himself.

"All we wanted," the man said smoothly, "Was to ask you a few questions. But you just _had_ to engage us in battle."

"You're _pathetic_ ," Nicolas spat, "If it wasn't for your companion, you'd be a red stain on our carpet."

The man shrugged. "I'm well aware of my shortcomings," he said indulgently, "Almost as much as I'm aware of Bellatrix's power, and of your forthcoming doom."

"And you think that _scares_ me?" Nicolas asked, "Now that she… she…" His voice trembled.

Bellatrix snickered. Nicolas' vision went red as he surged at her, but a swish of her wand sent him flying into a chair; iron manacles appeared to bind his arms and legs and he soon found that he could not move.

"I'm truly sorry for your loss," Barty said amiably. Nicolas snarled at them in rage and grief.

"Well," Barty continued, folding his hands and towering over Nicolas, "I suppose it's time to get to the point. And I suppose you must know what we want by now."

"You'll _never_ find anything about the Stone from _me_ ," Nicolas growled.

"But there are ways, oh are there _such_ ways to find out!" Bellatrix said with glee as she brandished her wand.

"Bella," Crouch said in a forbidding tone and she pouted, "No. You know what happened the last time we tried _that_."

"Oh _fine_ ," she huffed, "But I still maintain the Longbottoms would've squealed if they knew anything."

Nicolas laughed – a high-pitched, cold burst that was filled with more pain than genuine happiness. "You know _nothing_ , fools. Nothing," he said in a harsh voice, "And in the absence of concrete information, even _Veritaserum_ cannot force the truth from me."

"See," Barty said shrewdly, fixing his eyes intently on Nicolas, "You'd probably be right – we would probably be interrogating you in vain if we were by ourselves. For even the wise and powerful Albus Dumbledore doesn't know the _true_ nature of the Philosopher's Stone, does he?"

"No," Nicolas murmured, "He doesn't."

"But you forget that there is one other who is just as powerful," Barty said.

"Who?" Nicolas asked with all the contempt he could muster. He jerked his head at Bellatrix. "Her?" he asked.

"I'm so flattered," Bellatrix responded.

"Not quite," Barty said mildly, "She's incredible, but even _she_ serves one other. Our Master."

Despite himself, Nicolas gasped – there were few wizards who would be called _Master_ by others, and he knew the one of whom Barty spoke. "No," he breathed, "He failed. He _failed_ to get the Stone. He was thwarted. He cannot be back. He cannot."

"You think the Philosopher's Stone is the only way back to the land of the living?" Barty asked.

"No," Nicolas breathed.

"But He _is_ back. And _He_ knows the true nature of the Stone. For it is not a stone at all, is it? It is a _gem_ ," Barty said, his gaze unflinching.

Nicolas stiffened and Barty smiled.

"A gem of _lore_ ," Barty emphasized.

"No," Nicolas breathed again. He felt his chest filling with horror.

Bellatrix frowned. "I wasn't told any of this," she said snidely, "What's this about?"

"You see, they lied to us in our Advanced Potions classes. Those foolish little tales about extraordinary alchemists who managed to _create_ Philosopher's Stones. All the Philosopher's Stones – notice my use of the _plural_ , ' _stones_ ' – that have been created, and mysteriously enough, _destroyed_ through our history. But those were all lies. Falsehoods fabricated by frauds such as these," Barty said, pointing at Flamel, his voice growing more excited with every passing syllable, "In truth, there is only _one_ Philosopher's Stone. A magical artefact of such power – an artefact that can stave off death in a fashion that is nearly _infinite_ in its capacity, an artefact that can _create_ gold… the alchemically _perfect_ stone against which all other conjurations and enchanted gems are judged - it cannot be the creation of a single man, no matter how prodigiously talented. No, there is only _one_ true Philosopher's Stone. All of the purported creators of the Stone – they were _not_ creators, or inventors, so much as they were discoverers. _Summoners_. The Philosopher's Stone is a _Gem_."

"You do not know the magnitude of the power you seek to wield, fool," Nicolas spat.

"And you do?" Barty said furiously, "And what _noble_ purpose did you use the Stone for, old fool? Did you use it for societal salvation? Did you ever even _think_ of sharing your wealth? No, you did just what the _other_ so-called 'creators' of the Stone did – you _coveted_ it. And hoarded it. Short-sighted oaf!"

"You expect me to believe _you_ intend to use it for benevolent reasons? And that this is a _charity_ drive?" Nicolas bellowed.

Barty smiled. "Yes," he said, "You might not believe it, but as one of the foremost arithmancers in the world, surely _you_ of all people know of the shrinking Nexus. Magic is on the verge of extinction, Flamel."

"You don't _know_ that," Nicolas said, "Nobody does. The Nexus could merely be shrinking to a stable level…"

"Oh, I've heard of that argument before," Barty snapped, "But _our_ Master knows. He _knows_ that the Nexus is shrinking, that magic shall vanish if something isn't done about it."

"And you think the _Stone_ is key to reversing the course of the Nexus?" Nicolas spat.

" _He_ does," Barty said, after a short silence, "And that is enough for me. A gem of lore and all that."

"You're a fool, a witless oaf who wags his tail at…" Nicolas said, but he was cut off by Barty.

"Enough," Barty said. He nodded to Bellatrix. "Give the man something to drink."

"Finally," Bellatrix sighed as she pulled out a vial from her sleeve – a vial full of a colourless, odourless potion.

"That won't work," Nicolas snarled, "The Elixir of Life still flows through my veins."

"Ah, yes," Barty said mildly, as he fingered a ring on his left hand – a ring with a black stone at its centre. Nicolas could feel the sheer power radiating off the stone.

"Do you know what this is?" Barty asked. And then, without waiting for an answer, he continued, "It's a _replica_. Of a Gem, much like your beloved Stone. Unfortunately, the replica is nowhere near as powerful as the original gem, so it can only be used thrice. This, unfortunately, shall be the last time I use it."

"You never got around to telling me what that ring actually does," Bellatrix said curiously, tilting her head at her companion, even as Nicolas recoiled.

"Not the _ring_ , Bella," Barty said, "The _stone_. It's the creation of Salazar Slytherin himself; like I said, it was an attempt to recreate something far more powerful – another Gem of lore. The original gem had the ability to supersede all forms of magic, save the most powerful, and according to some, the power to hold communion with the _dead_."

"Ah," Bellatrix said, "And so you used it to free me from Azkaban."

Barty nodded. "And to get through the incredibly well-cast wards around this house," he said. He then looked at Nicolas with a smile. "And now, with the remaining power this replica has at its disposal," he said, "We shall use it to ferret out this man's every last valuable secret."

"No, no, no, no, no…" Nicolas started frantically, but he was cut off by a Silencing spell from Barty.

Nicolas wept. He wept for the world, he wept for Perenelle, and he wept for the secrets that would soon escape him – secrets that he had kept hidden for so long to such great effect.

His only consolation, he thought as Bellatrix prowled towards him with the vial of Veritaserum, and as Barty advanced upon him with the ring, was that when this was all over, he shall be with Perenelle forever.


	14. Dance Dates and Heartbreak

Dance Dates and Heartbreak

"So," Hermione said after the – in Harry's opinion – startling announcement before dinner, "That was something."

"Yep," Ginny said, not quite succeeding in her attempt to keep from giggling.

Neville looked around frantically, then leaned in and whispered to Harry, "Does… does this mean we need to… _ask_ girls out?"

"Only if you're going to the ball, Neville," Harry said with a sigh, looking wistfully up at the Staff Table, though he didn't quite know _who_ to fix his gaze on.

"What do you mean ' _if you're going to the ball_ '?" Hermione asked in a heated voice, "Of course you're going to the ball!"

"Uh, Hermione," Harry said, "It's… complicated."

Ginny looked _very_ interested in his predicament all of a sudden. "What's complicated?" she asked.

"No, wait," Harry said as he thought of something less incriminating than his messy romantic life, "I don't even know how to dance."

"That's what you're worried about?" Hermione scoffed, "That's nothing! Just take the daily lessons with Professor McGonagall. Or better yet, ask your mother."

"Yeah," Harry murmured to himself sarcastically, " _That_ will work."

Neville gulped and asked in a small voice, "So… how do I sign up for these dance classes?"

"They start this Thursday," Lavender supplied helpfully from Neville's right.

"Well," Fred said from Hermione's right with a grin, "You better ask the ladies out fast, gents."

"Yup," Lee Jordan said, "Because they're all going to run out in a hurry."

Harry rolled his eyes.

"So," George asked excitedly, "Harry, you going to try and ask out veela-girl?"

Harry groaned softly during the short silence that followed in his immediate vicinity. Then -

"What?" Ginny asked in a surprisingly angry voice, just as Hermione spluttered and Parvati shrieked in excitement. And Lavender, much to Harry's surprise, looked _triumphant_.

"Guys," Harry said in a flat voice, "George is _kidding_. And George, thanks a lot for giving Skeeter her next headline."

"Looks like you're a bit late on that count, Harry," Lavender said, smoothing the copy of the Witch Weekly she had splayed out on the table in front of her and Parvati, "Have you read her piece in this?"

Harry shook his head. "Don't really subscribe to it, to be honest," he replied.

Lavender smirked. "Well," she said, "You probably should, considering the fact that practically every witch in the school has a subscription."

Hermione looked a bit miffed at that accusation. "I don't," she said. Lavender merely smirked as she handed her copy over to Neville, who promptly gave it to Harry, who stared at the page he'd been handed.

"Er," Harry said in a hesitant voice, "You… wanted me to read an article about Krum's preferred underpants?"

Lavender and Parvati flushed as Ginny burst into laughter and Hermione looked disgusted. Neville, Fred, George and Lee snickered.

"No, you moron," Lavender said, annoyed, "It's the article _after_ that. The one that just goes on and _on_. Rather than the one that's confined to a _box_."

".. _er_ ", Fred added helpfully and the table burst into laughter again.

"Yeah, Harry," George said, "It's not the article in _brief_."

"… _ssss_ ," Fred completed, much to Lavender's chagrin.

"Right," Harry said quickly and flipped the page to read the first few paragraphs of the indicated article.

" _ **A Tale of Woe and Fists to the Face: Chronicles of the Boy-Who-Lost**_

 _By Rita Skeeter_

 _After the incredibly inane display during the proceedings of the First Task of the Tri-wizard Tournament, and not quite satisfied with proving that his head is entirely bereft of all knowledge that is valuable to a wizard befitting his reputation, Harry Potter appears to be milking his humiliating loss for all it's worth – and that doesn't appear to be much at all. But we shall get to his inept impotence later; for embarking upon that sort of criticism of our most famous purported wunderchild requires more than just the accusations of one conscientious and award-winning reporter._

 _Of course, I require very little proof of Harry Potter's lack of magical aptitude; his amazingly mediocre academic scores and the magnificent lack of ability on display during the ongoing, prestigious tournament are more than enough to prove his incompetence. And it's even worse that this incompetence has come to light at the worst possible time and in the worst possible manner – and the fact that this child's mediocrity was made known during the most prestigious inter-school tournament in Europe, in front of such distinguished guests and magicals of such repute, has a lot to do with my vehement criticism of the mythical status said child has achieved._

 _But all of this could be forgiven – or at least understood – if the boy had a pleasing personality or if the boy were sincere, hard-working, and willing to engage with the wizarding public and ensure them that his performance in the First Task was truly a one-off, that he'd try much, much harder going forward. But we, in the press, have heard nothing of the sort. The silence of Harry Potter is as it always was – a stoic silence born of stupidity rather than strife. Therefore, I suppose we must turn to other sources for the real truth about the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Be-A-Loser._

 _According to his classmate and son of the powerful political playmaker, Lucius Malfoy, 'Harry Potter is as arrogant as they come. He struts about the school like he owns it, but he doesn't have the ability to back his empty authority when push comes to shove. Mediocre grades, mediocre magical ability and arrogance are not enough to make a champion – no real Hogwarts student looks upon Harry Potter as their real champion. It's sort of obvious that there's something very fishy about his selection for the tournament.'_

 _Reports also reached my ears of how Harry Potter has alienated a very close friend of his – Ronald Weasley, the son of a very important Ministry Wizard – by way of his incredible arrogance and superior manner. Ronald himself was very gracious while speaking to me though, and restrained himself from viciously criticising Potter like the boy obviously deserved. He had this to say, 'Harry and I are still… sort of friends. I guess I'm a little bit miffed at him at the moment, but I'm not so sure it's right to pile on him, y'know?'_

 _And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the mark of truly great wizard – nobility, restraint and sincerity. Traits that seem to be woefully missing in the apparent 'vanquisher of You-Know-Who'. Indeed, if one were to go around asking students for opinions about Harry Potter, the comments range from bad ('lazy', 'full of himself') to worse ('nuisance', 'spoilt' and even 'evil')._

 _To make matters worse, Harry Potter appears to be so thick-headed that he seems bent on using his failure to project himself as some sort of eligible bachelor. For instance, the Potter scion seems keen to claim that he was dating one of the most beautiful young women at Hogwarts – the daughter of former Gladrags model, Elizabeth Chang – during his summer vacations. But, when asked about it, the young woman herself had this to say, 'Honestly? He's really saying that? We've never even met properly – not since he kept drooling all over me during the Gryffindor-Ravenclaw match last year! I saw him once or twice during the Quidditch camp at summer, but that was it. He never even spoke to me, let alone dated me!'_

 _However, I suppose we can take some comfort from the fact that not many are falling for Potter's ruse of 'I'm a lover, not a fighter'; even his closest friends are laughing behind his back. Hermione Granger – a muggleborn and arguably Potter's best friend – had this to say, 'If I were so inclined, I'm sure I'd wish there were something between [Harry and me]. However, I'm not so inclined.' Subtle? Not really._

 _And now, word is that Harry Potter has set his sights, of all people, on the beautiful and accomplished French champion – Fleur Delacour. My own heart goes out to the poor girl, who'd have to listen to Potter's idiocy and rambling flirtations for courtesy's sake, if for nothing else. Ugh._

 _I guess what they say about men is true after all – the bigger the wand that is brandished, the smaller the efficacy of the spells cast."_

Harry couldn't take much more. The article went on for a while in that vein, but he closed the magazine hastily and pushed it towards Lavender.

Hermione, however, who had been reading the article over his shoulder, looked horror-struck.

"I… I…" she stammered, "Harry, I didn't mean it like that! I swear."

"You mean it's all true?" Lavender asked, her eyes shining with curiosity, "You really said that?"

"I did," Hermione said, and Harry stared at her, not sure _what_ to think. "But I didn't _mean_ it like that… how the _heck_ did she even hear that? I basically meant to say that I thought of you in _brotherly_ terms… how the _hell_ did she hear that? I was talking to _Luna_!"

"Relax, Hermione," Harry murmured, "I trust you." Hermione gave him a weak smile, but still looked troubled at Skeeter's managing to eavesdrop over their conversation.

"But the article _does_ seem to be true," Lavender pressed, "At least when it comes to you and the floozy, right?"

"There's nothing between me and the floo… er.,, me and Fleur!" Harry hissed, "We _talked_. Once. I'm pretty sure _George_ has talked to her more than I have."

"Oi," George said, casting a wary glance at Angelina, who was sitting next to Lee, "Don't bring me into this."

"Don't worry, George," Angelina said sweetly, "I'm pretty sure we all saw you trying your best not to drool all over her last Sunday."

Fred chortled.

"So," Neville murmured again to Harry once normal conversation around the table resumed, "Er… do you plan to ask someone out?"

The question seemed a bit pointed, so Harry looked at Neville with an inquisitive glance. "Do you mean to ask if I've got someone in mind?"

Neville nodded. Harry shrugged and said, "Not really."

Neville's eyes lit up. "Er… do you mind if I ask out…" he lowered his voice to a whisper, "… Ginny?"

Harry stared at the round-faced boy, who blushed promptly. "Nope," Harry murmured back, "Don't worry about it."

Neville smiled happily as he stared at his dinner.

"What're you two so happy about?" Ginny asked. Neville choked over his baked potatoes.

"The reason you keep getting hit," Narcissa said harshly, "Is because you keep trying to move _at_ me!"

Harry wiped a bead of sweat from his brow and got up from the ground, grunting at the painful sensation around his left shoulder, which had previously been brought crashing to the ground by Narcissa's spell.

"Yeah, sorry," Harry said contritely as he readied his wand and faced her again, "Just trying to imitate my mother's style."

Narcissa raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "And how exactly would you happen to know your mother's duelling style?" she asked.

"Oh," Harry said, realizing at once that he'd never actually told Narcissa about his training sessions with Lily… not that Narcissa needed to know about the _other_ part of said training. He continued, "She's been giving me duelling lessons since the beginning of term."

"I see," Narcissa breathed, "That's a good thing, I suppose.

"But," Narcissa continued in a warning tone, "You must consider the fact that Lily's been _trained_ in various muggle styles of fighting – I believe I heard her boasting about her knowledge of some Japanese martial art and some Korean style once…"

"My mother doesn't _boast_ ," Harry said indignantly.

"Sure, she doesn't," Narcissa retorted sarcastically.

"Why _are_ you being like this?" Harry asked.

"Like _what_?" Narcissa asked in a dangerous tone.

"Combative," Harry explained, a bit too boldly in his own opinion, "You've been this way for a _week_."

"You _do_ know we're engaged in an ancient wizarding martial combat called ' _duelling_ ', don't you?" Narcissa snapped, "Of _course_ I'm combative."

"You're being difficult on purpose," Harry told her, though he kept his voice calm.

Narcissa's eyes turned to ice as she forced out a sizzling purple arc from her wand that Harry ducked immediately.

"Are you _nuts_?" he asked furiously as the arc cut a deep gouge into the far wall – had it struck him, his body may have been sheared in half, though he knew Narcissa could reign in her spells if she so wished, even after they had left her wand. Still… the fact that her spell, intended for him, had gashed the _stone_ wall so severely was a bit alarming.

Narcissa's face appeared to be frozen in rage as she sent yet another powerful spiral of magic at him, which he swept aside with a localised shield. He then conjured an entire stone _wall_ as a dozen spells emanated from Narcissa's clenched fist. The wall shattered into pieces; Harry didn't even wait for the pieces to fall – he started sprinting towards the side and was rewarded for his effort as a massive gout of flame charred the spot he had vacated. He rolled underneath Narcissa's next spell and came out into a crouch, slamming his wand outwards and halting Narcissa's right hand, as it swept towards him, with a powerful _Impedimenta_ ; her own spell – a paralyzing jinx – flew to the far left, missing him entirely.

Narcissa growled in frustration and brought her wand to bear on Harry as she let loose a reddish-hued hex that Harry could not identify, but ultimately missed him as he kept moving. A flurry of spells erupted from Narcissa's wand, but Harry blocked or dodged them all. He swept his wand to his right in a wide arc and a tremendous burst of energy erupted outwards; Narcissa conjured a shield, but it shattered and she was forced to throw herself to the side to avoid the rest of his spell, which slammed into the wall behind her, causing chips of stone and plaster to fall off. Harry followed up with a controlled _Bombarda_ , which detonated right next to Narcissa, sending her reeling into the wall. Harry cast a quick Stunner next, but Narcissa recovered admirably and blocked his spell with a standard shield.

She then tucked her hands inwards and _pushed_ out with her elbows, her wand clenched in her right fist; a storm of metal shards burst forth at Harry, who hastily countered with a massive wall of water, sweeping them aside. And then, much to his surprise, Narcissa didn't even bother to counter his wall of water as it swept towards her; instead, she pushed her wand out and cast a spell of such incredible power that it slammed right through his liquid wall, breaking it up effortlessly, and barrelled towards him, making his hair stand on end.

Harry quickly conjured the most advanced shield he knew and a massive silvery dome burst into existence around him. Narcissa's unidentifiable, but ultimately powerful, spell slammed into his dome with a massive _gong_ , but his shield held. The dome pressed inwards, even as Harry summoned his magic and reinforced his shield, now glowing a bright orange. Narcissa pushed out, sweating under the strain of sustaining her powerful spell and trying to collapse his shield with the sheer force of the same advanced spell.

The two tremendous manifestations of magic strove against each other for an entire minute, but Harry's shield held firm under Narcissa's onslaught. Eventually, the force subsided and a loud _crack_ signified that Narcissa's spell had failed. Harry let out a relieved breath and vanished his shield; he brandished his wand, intending to cast a flurry of spells at his statuesque opponent, but he paused as he beheld Narcissa's plight.

She was slumped against the far wall, and was… _trembling_ , her wand on the ground two feet away from her. Harry stared at her for an instant, shocked into inaction at seeing her so vulnerable during a duel, but the moment passed and he recognized the symptoms of magical exhaustion. He sprinted to her cabinet, quickly pulled out a Pepper-Up, then ran to Narcissa, knelt beside her and handed the flask to her.

Narcissa pulled out the cork hastily and chugged the potion. A burst of red seeped back into her face as she relaxed against the wall with her legs splayed out. Harry hesitantly sat down beside her and surveyed the room with a wry eye – entire portions of the wall had fallen out, Narcissa's desk had been reduced to cinders (he supposed her usual precaution of storing her papers in a separate cabinet had paid dividends) and there were metal filings and wet patches all around the room.

"Are you alright?" he asked gently, turning his attention to Narcissa.

"Maybe," she said tersely.

Harry sighed. "You exhausted yourself with that spell," he said mildly.

"And you didn't," she snapped irritably, "Are you _happy_ now?"

"Narcissa," Harry asked in concern, "What's _with_ you?"

Narcissa merely slumped against the wall, her face now flushing in anger, mixed with what Harry thought was… embarrassment.

"Nothing," she snapped, "Or maybe it's just… that time of the month."

For a moment, Harry thought Narcissa was confessing to being a werewolf. And then he got it. " _Oh_ , ah," Harry said, "Yes. That. Uh… is there something I can do?"

Narcissa looked away. "I need you to leave," she said abruptly.

"Need me to…?" Harry asked, bewildered. He then stayed silent for a moment, before he asked in a softer voice, "Do you _want_ me to leave?"

Narcissa let out a breath and then said, in a voice that was almost… tremulous, "Maybe."

Harry moved towards Narcissa and cupped her cheek with his palm. He was gratified when she didn't flinch.

"Narcissa," he tried again, "What is it?"

Narcissa turned to him, her blue eyes softening for a fleeting moment, before she looked away again. "Not now," she said at last, "Maybe… later? For now, I'd like to be alone with naught but my thoughts for company."

Harry withdrew his palm, the sensation of her smooth skin still lingering on it, and got up, towering over her slumped form.

"'Cissa," he said at last, "I…" He searched for the right words, but ultimately had to make do with what he could come up with at the moment. "I… _care_ about you. You know that. And, if there's anything… you know you can tell me whatever you want, and I'll listen, right?"

She refused to look up at him, so Harry sighed. "Fair enough. Take your time, but _please_ ; don't keep it all in, yeah? And I'm always here for you – there's a _lot_ I owe to you, love," Harry finished, emulating her favourite form of addressing him.

Narcissa started and looked up at him, her eyes wide. Harry merely smiled and walked around the room, vanishing the debris and repairing what he could – he gave up the table as a bad job though, and hoped the house elves would be able to do something about it.

Eventually, after he had restored the room to some semblance of its former dignity, he moved away, hoping she'd call him back… and to his surprise, she _did_.

"Harry," Narcissa said abruptly, and he paused. She sighed and said, "Goodbye."

Harry tried not to show his disappointment. He opened the door softly and walked out, his mind extremely distressed at Narcissa's unspoken woes and the suddenly uncertain nature of their close relationship.

One question though, was foremost in his mind – _Has she found out about Lily_?

"Whoa," Harry said as Lily pulled him into her office barely five minutes after he had just duelled with Narcissa, his mind still swimming with uncertainty, "Dinner shall start in a moment… aren't you needed at the staff table?"

"Oh, don't worry," Lily huffed, "I'm not pulling you in for a quickie… are you even _capable_ of a quickie? Or is it always a long, passionate session of love with you?"

Harry had no idea if that had been a rhetorical question, but Lily saved him the trouble of pondering over the answer too much as she quickly brandished a copy of the… _Witch Weekly_.

Harry gaped at her. "You subscribe to the _Witch Weekly_?" he asked blankly.

"Of course I do," Lily said in an exasperated tone, staring at him, "It's the most popular women's magazine in the English-speaking part of the wizarding world. Besides, it has great articles."

"Sure it does," Harry muttered.

"Anyway," Lily said quickly, "I dragged you in here to ask you about _one_ particular article."

"Uh huh," Harry said dully.

"While I have my doubts about the veracity of Skeeter's claims," Lily persisted, "I still need… I _have_ to ask you this question for my own sanity."

Harry opened his mouth to reply but Lily stalled him with a shake of her head.

"I stand by what I said earlier – I don't care about the stuff that happened _before_ ," Lily said, "I get that. You have a past and I don't care as long as _you_ don't either. But this thing about Fleur Delacour… is that… is that true?"

Harry palmed his face. "No," he said, looking right into Lily's eyes, "No, it's not. We've talked. Twice. Maybe thrice, though I'm not really sure having a girl tell me how unimpressive my school is after I help her escape a false step counts as a conversation."

Lily stared at him intently for a second and then smiled, her posture relaxing immediately. "Good," she said in a happy voice, "Because I don't fancy going up against a quarter-veela."

"You don't need to," Harry said, smirking, "You're pretty smokin' yourself."

"Flatterer," Lily said, fluttering her eyelashes at him.

"Me?" Harry asked in an injured voice, "No! Say it isn't so, fair lady!"

Lily giggled. "Enough," she said and then perked up. "So," she continued, "About this Yule Ball…"

"Right," Harry said quickly, "I was wondering if I _need_ to find a date for that. I mean… can't I just go for it by myself?"

Lily smiled at him and purred, "You say all the right things, Harry." Her smile then faded, though, and she continued in a more sober tone, "However, you _do_ need a dance partner, at the very least, for the opening dance. It's tradition for the Triwizard Champions to open the dance floor during the Yule Ball. And then eat dinner with the judges. And then close the dance floor at the end of the Ball."

Harry gaped at Lily for a moment. "You mean," he asked, "I _have_ to find a date?"

Lily wagged a finger at him. "A _friend_ ," she emphasized, "Just find a friend who'd be willing to stay beside you for the entire ball."

Then Lily frowned as she realized what she had said. "Though now that I've said that out loud," Lily said, "It sounds a bit… harsh."

She then looked at Harry sternly and said, "But you _better_ not fool around during the Ball, Harry."

Harry observed the varied moods Lily had just cycled through in the space of thirty seconds and wondered if all women synchronized their time of the month so that they could lash out at the male sex as one.

"Er…" he repeated, "So, you mean I have to find a date?"

Lily sighed. "Yes," she repeated, "You do, but make sure your date _knows_ you're just going with her as a _friend_."

"Right," Harry said.

"Why don't you ask Hermione?" Lily asked, perking up, "Or Luna? I'm sure they wouldn't mind going with you as _friends_."

Harry noticed the repeated emphasis on 'as friends'. "And Ginny?" he asked shrewdly.

"Not a _chance_ ," Lily snapped.

Harry chuckled. "Oh, you worry too much," he said, "Neville's planning to ask her out."

"Neville Longbottom?" Lily wondered, "Didn't see _that_ coming."

A short silence followed, and Harry said, "Sure, I'll ask Hermione."

Lily nodded at him approvingly.

"Hermione?" Harry asked in a low voice as he proceeded after dinner, along with the girl he was attempting to address, to Gryffindor Tower, "Er… I'm not sure if I should be so abrupt with this: but do you mind going to the Ball with me?"

Hermione stared at him for a moment and Harry hastily added, "I mean as friends. Right. As friends."

Hermione relaxed. "Oh," she said, and looked immensely contrite, "I… I'm sorry Harry, but I already sort-of… maybe… have a date."

It was Harry's turn to stare at her. "Right," he said at last, "That's… good?"

"Yeah," Hermione said uncertainly as she climbed through the portrait hole with Harry right behind her. Once they were inside the Common Room, Harry immediately muttered a good-bye to Hermione and made his way to his dorm, but then he saw that Hermione was following him.

"Er… Hermione?" he asked.

Hermione looked at him intently and hissed, "Neville's talking to Ginny and the rest of the guys in your dorm are down in the Common Room, playing Gobstones. And I need to talk to you... alone."

Harry shrugged, walked up to his dorm and sat on his bed with his back to the headrest. Hermione made herself comfortable as well along the foot of his bed.

"Right," Hermione said, "We need to talk."

"You said that already," Harry reminded her.

"Yes," Hermione said unsurely as she bit her lip and stared at the floor, "But now that I'm here… I'm not entirely sure _what_ to say."

"Er…" Harry said uncertainly, wondering if that was his cue to continue the conversation.

"I guess I can start with my… er… rejection of your invitation to accompany you to the Ball," Hermione said, "I'm sorry."

"Hermione, it's alright," Harry said gently, "I get it."

"Not really," Hermione said, "Earlier, the thing Skeeter wrote about in that horrid article – that thing I said about you… about not being inclined to date you…"

"Yeah," Harry said awkwardly, "I got that. Brotherly feelings. And they're reciprocated."

Hermione shook her head and finally looked him in the eye. "I lied," she said, and then continued quickly before he could misinterpret her statement, "I _really_ meant what I said – I'm _not_ inclined to date you, but I _would_ be eager to date you were I so inclined."

Harry rubbed his forehead. "I still don't get it," he said after a short pause.

"I mean, if I were _interested_ , I would _want_ to date you," Hermione said in a leading voice, "But I'm not _interested_."

"In me?" Harry asked, entirely confused.

Hermione palmed her face. "In your _sex_ ," she said, her face still buried in her palms.

It took a moment for Harry to comprehend what she had just said. He stared at Hermione, who still had her head in her hands, and then said in a voice of dawning comprehension, "Right. _Right_. So, okay, that's… yeah, but I don't really care about that."

Hermione looked at him uncertainly and then smiled as she saw the sincerity in his eyes. She beamed. "I knew you wouldn't," she said at last, "But… there's always that chance…"

"So," Harry asked, his voice acquiring more certainty as all the little inconsistencies he had noticed in Hermione's behaviour over the years – and especially _this_ year - gained clarity in his mind, "You really do have a date to the Ball?"

"Maybe?" Hermione said, blushing, "But I'm still not sure I should say yes. I really need to think about it myself, but… oh what the hell, it's Luna. Luna asked if I'd be interested in taking her to the Ball."

Harry gaped, wondering how he had managed to miss all of this, and if anyone else in his circle of friends had spotted any of it. "Oh," he said, "So… er… Luna and you…"

"Luna's had a crush on me for _ages_ ," Hermione said, her flushed cheeks becoming even more pronounced, "However, over the past few days, she's become a little less subtle with me. But… she's only a third year, and I… I don't even… I really need to think about this."

"Right," Harry said, not quite managing to keep himself from smiling, in any case, "Well, that's a budding romance I never really foresaw."

"Harry!" Hermione huffed as she slapped his arm, "It's not a… It's not… _ugh_."

Harry laughed.

And then, something _else_ struck him. "Hermione," he said in a _very_ curious voice, "So… er… all those times you stared at my Mom for a long while whenever she was around… and all those times you blushed when you were talking to her… did you…?"

Harry didn't think it was possible for Hermione's cheeks to get any redder. The girl stared at him, open-mouthed, before she looked at the clock near the door to their dorm.

"Oh, look at the time!" she said in a voice that was _way_ too bright, "It's _well_ past time for bed!"

"Hermione," Harry said in a warning tone, "Did you have a crush on my…?"

"Bye, Harry, nice talk, I'm so relieved to pour it all out to you! Bye!" Hermione said quickly, jumped off his bed and practically ran from his room.

Harry stared after her for a moment and then burst into laughter.

"Harry?" Hermione asked uncertainly as he stared at his food morosely the next day, at dinner, "Is something the matter?"

Harry looked up at her, and then went back to staring at his food.

"He can't find a date to the Yule Ball," Neville whispered, "And McGonagall told him off for not being able to find one… seeing as how there's only a week to go and all that."

"Thank you, Neville," Harry muttered, but Neville merely shrugged.

Ginny looked a bit uncertain on how to respond – she looked unhappily at Neville for a moment before she managed to mask her expression as Neville turned to look at her.

"Who did you try to ask out?" Hermione asked in a sympathetic voice.

"Parvati," Harry counted off, but Ginny interrupted him, "What did Parvati say?"

"That she was going with Dean," Harry said, jerking his head to the side, "But as it turns out, Dean actually asked her _after_ I did."

"So, there's something between Dean and her?" Hermione asked curiously.

"Maybe," Harry said, "Or maybe I just look really, really bad."

"Oh shut it," Hermione said, "You look _fine_."

"So Skeeter's tarring and feathering has worked, eh?" Fred said, eavesdropping over their conversation.

"Oi!" Ginny hissed, but Harry merely shrugged morosely – Skeeter's articles did appear to be the primary cause for the all the rejections so far. And the numerous rumours swirling around, about how he had falsely claimed to date Cho over summer, despite the fact that he never _had_ claimed it ( _Although,_ a guilty part of his mind whispered, _you never denied it either_ ), and about how he was a sore loser who tried to bed every pretty girl in sight, not to mention his incredibly embarrassing performance in the first task – all of them together contributed to make him a very unpleasant prospect as a date to the Yule Ball.

"You've got to tell McGonagall you can't find a date," Hermione said.

"And listen to her chew me out again?" Harry asked grumpily.

"Maybe _she_ could help you find a date," Hermione ventured.

Fred laughed and Ginny giggled despite herself. Even Luna smiled.

"Of course!" George said, with a snap of his fingers, from his usual seat next to Fred, "Maybe _McGonagall_ can help Harry find a girl!"

To his horror, George immediately turned to an oblivious Katie, sitting next to Ginny and engaged in a conversation with her classmate, and said in a very stiff Scottish accent, "Miss Bell."

Katie paused in her conversation and stared at George.

"I want you to know that I really appreciate your hard work in Transfiguration," George said in a tone that was remarkably reminiscent of McGonagall's, "And your grades _have_ picked up considerably since you started applying yourself in this particular field of magic."

"Are you… are you actually trying to imitate McGonagall?" Katie asked, bewildered.

George scoffed, drew himself up in his seat and proclaimed, "I _am_ Minerva McGonagall. And I haven't the faintest idea what you mean, Miss Bell."

He then reached across Fred, who helpfully leaned back in his seat, and seized Harry by his neck. Harry tried to brush George's hands off, but the redhead's grip was too strong.

"However, since your grades _have_ picked up admirably, and because you have proven yourself capable of self-improvement," George said to an increasingly confused-looking Katie, "I suppose I can safely claim that you shall be a very good match for our very own Mister Potter, who is _also_ capable of academic self-improvement, judging by his increasingly stellar performance this year. So, would you be so kind as to prove my match-making skills as admirable as my teaching ability and accompany Harry Potter to the Ball?"

Fred whistled in appreciation, even as Harry turned crimson and Katie gaped at all three of them. The rest of the students around them burst into laughter.

"Are you guys taking the mickey?" she managed at last.

"Nope," Fred said with a grin, even as George grabbed Harry's spectacles, despite Harry's protests and pushed them up along the bridge of his own nose in a manner that was eerily reminiscent of McGonagall's.

Katie giggled and gave Harry what appeared to be a pitying look.

"Sorry, Harry," she said, "But I already have a date to the Ball."

She looked between the Weasley twins, gave him a wry grin and said, "But maybe you should do the asking out yourself the next time around?"

The laughter increased in pitch, and Harry managed to free himself from George's chokehold, glaring at the twins, who didn't even care to look guilty.

"Yeah, what was I thinking?" Harry asked sarcastically. Katie shrugged, gave him an apologetic smile and turned back around to speak to a very amused-looking Patterson.

"Okay," Hermione said, looking a bit abashed, "Maybe telling McGonagall isn't the best idea."

"Who else did you ask to the ball?" Ginny asked.

"Every Gryffindor in my year," Harry said in a dull monotone.

"Even Perks?" Hermione asked.

"Yes. I asked Sally-Anne too," Harry said, "But she's going with some sixth year in Hufflepuff."

"Who's Lavender going with?" Neville asked curiously.

"Seamus," Harry replied with a sigh. Neville snickered and the girls looked at them curiously.

"Er… what's so bad about Seamus?" Ginny asked.

"It's just… well…" Neville tried and looked to Harry for help.

Harry sighed again. "I guess he just… _really_ likes Lavender," he said.

"And that's a bad thing?" Ginny asked.

"Well, it wouldn't be," Harry said, "If he liked _all_ of Lavender. As it stands though, he seems to like her… _personality_ , far more than he likes her for… _her_."

"Ew," Ginny said, disgusted. Neville continued to snigger.

"Have you tried the other Houses?" Hermione asked.

Harry nodded. "I asked all the girls I knew," he said and started counting them off, "Susan. Hannah. Brocklehurst. Megan. Moon. Padma."

"Morag?" Hermione asked.

"She's dating Terry Boot," Harry replied.

"You forgot Su Li and Lisa Turpin," Luna said.

"Not really," Harry said, "They're not even going to the Ball."

"Weird," Ginny remarked. She then frowned at Harry and said, "I saw you asking out Robins."

Hermione gaped at him. "Even _Demelza_ said no to you?" she asked. He nodded; she whistled softly and said, "Perhaps I underestimated the reach of _Witch Weekly_. Apparently, even third years are more willing to forego an invitation to a ball, than to dance with you."

"Yeah, and she's not the only third year that said no – Nandini said no too," Harry informed Hermione. He then scratched his head. "Then again, I might've been a bit… overzealous in my approach."

"He means to say that he asked Nandini _right_ after he asked Demelza," Ginny said, exasperated, "And they were standing right next to each other."

Hermione winced. "Amateur move, Potter," she said, though her voice was filled with mirth, "Very bad form."

"Glad you're amused," Harry said, "To be fair, though, I was _really_ desperate."

"I really think Nandini would've said yes," Ginny said in a disapproving tone, "But it was sort of a weird thing to do – like you didn't care _who_ you were going out with, as long as you were going out with _someone_."

"Maybe you can apologize and ask again?" Hermione tried.

Ginny shook her head. "They've both been asked out," she said, "By Cornfoot and McLaggen."

"Cormac McLaggen?" Fred asked, suddenly interested, "He asked out a _third_ - _year_?"

Ginny looked annoyed. "Yes," she said in a snippy tone, "He did, George. And thank you for looking down upon us itsy-bitsy third-years."

George snickered as Fred tried to stutter out an excuse.

"Right," George said, after he had watched his twin fumble around with an apology to a glaring Ginny for a while, "That means there's only one thing you _can_ do, Harry."

"What's that?" Harry asked.

"Well, there's _two_ things," George said.

"And what are those two things?" Harry asked, eager for any lifeline.

"Running away from Hogwarts," George said.

Harry palmed his face. "Next option?" he asked.

"And asking out a Slytherin," George said in a sober voice.

Harry chuckled. "I'm not sure which of those options is worse," he said.

Hermione, however, looked thoughtful. "Davis and Greengrass are alright," she said, "I mean… they're approachable in my Arithmancy class – but they'd rather kiss a flobberworm than date you."

Harry snorted morosely and Hermione turned crimson. "Uh… not that you're a bad prospect or anything," she hastily added.

"Wait," Ginny said, and lowered her voice as she looked curiously at both Harry and Neville, "Who is Ron taking to the Ball?"

The twins chortled at once. "You didn't hear?" George asked in between chuckles.

"What?" Ginny asked curiously.

"He asked out Fleur Delacour," Fred said cheerfully.

"No," Hermione breathed.

"Yup," George said.

"And?" Ginny asked.

"She looked at him like he was a garden gnome, and promptly said yes to Davies who was standing right next to her and had apparently asked her the same thing," Fred said.

"And Ron?" Ginny asked in a hushed tone.

"He ran like his arse was on fire," George supplied, "I think he made it all the way to his dorm before he stopped running."

"To be fair though," Fred said, "Even Davies looked like he couldn't believe his luck."

"Well, I wouldn't blame her," Katie, who had apparently been listening to the conversation, said, "Davies is one of the better-looking Head Boys I've seen at Hogwarts."

"And apparently has the largest fan club," George said, waggling his eyebrows at Katie, who promptly huffed irritably and turned to face her classmate again.

"Have you tried the older years?" Hermione asked Harry, "Er… apart from Katie?"

Harry looked askance at Hermione. "Because that would totally work," he said sarcastically. Then he sighed, and said, "I don't really know many older year students."

"The Quidditch teams?" Hermione tried.

"Oi!" Fred said, "Alicia's going with me, and Angelina's going with George."

"I'm sure there are _other_ Quidditch teams," Hermione said archly.

"Yeah, I did ask Macavoy," Harry said tiredly, "She gave me a firm no. And Maxine O'Flaherty just looked at me like I was the wrong end of a Blast-Ended Skrewt when I asked her."

Fred shuddered. "I don't think those things have a _right_ end," he said.

"Yeah," George said, "Whoever suggested those… things… to Hagrid needs a howler from our mom."

"And worse," Fred added.

"There are worse things than a Molly Weasley special?" George asked, stupefied.

"Anyway," Harry said, before the discussion could segue into criticism of Hagrid's increasingly dangerous Care of Magical Creatures classes, "Do you guys know anyone else I could ask?"

Everyone around him looked mystified and shrugged mutely.

Harry sighed and continued eating his dinner as the discussion turned to criticism of Hagrid's increasingly dangerous Care of Magical Creatures classes.

"Professor Malfoy?" Harry tried again once the entire class, except for him and said Professor, had left but Narcissa remained as unresponsive as ever. It was ironic – after the First Task, _he_ had avoided her for the better part of a day and now, _she_ was avoiding him. Only, he had no idea _why_ she was avoiding him – he knew she didn't suspect anything about him and Lily; he had been too careful for that, or so he hoped.

While it was easy to pin all blame on the _Witch Weekly_ article, it was hard for him to digest that Narcissa would believe a word written in that article. And even if she did, she should, in his opinion at least, do him the courtesy of giving him the chance to defend himself, or like Lily, just come out and _ask_ him about it.

Instead, all he received was the cold shoulder treatment.

He _missed_ her. He missed her innuendos, her incredible advice, her amazing guidance, her teaching, the duels – the last time they had duelled was when Narcissa had exhausted herself magically – but most of all, he missed _her_. The sensuous, knowing smile as they touched skin to skin, the soft, loving caresses she showered him with when they were together, the graceful, systematic manner in which she showed her love, the incredibly _edgy_ sensuality she brought into play during their little soirees… he missed it all.

And that was when he realized something – a very deep-seated something within him. He _more_ than cared for her. While the empty feeling in his chest wasn't quite the sort of pain brought on by such earth-shattering ardour as he had heard about so often from the girls he knew and their mushy novels, there _was_ an ache nonetheless. The sort of ache that was borne by passionate youthful romance and the pain of parting such fervent romance.

Nonetheless, he would be damned if he was going to lose Narcissa without even _knowing_ what he was losing her _for_. He _had_ to make it up to her – whatever deficiency she had spotted in him… he _had_ to make up for it. And that involved work.

Harry gave Narcissa, who was staring intently at the papers on her desk, a parting glance and walked out of the classroom, a plan already forming in his head. A plan he would put into practice as soon as his last class of the term – Transfiguration - was over and the winter vacations officially began.

To Harry's annoyance, several students were still loitering in the Transfiguration classroom when Professor McGonagall deigned to ask him about how he was faring in his attempt to procure a date for the Yule Ball.

"I… er…" Harry said, looking helplessly at the Transfiguration teacher and hoping his voice was low enough that the class would not hear him, "I'm working on it, Professor."

"You're…?" McGonagall said and looked astounded, "Mister Potter, there are _two_ days to go for the Yule Ball! And you've still managed to keep yourself from getting a _date_?"

The silence that suddenly swept over the classroom meant that every student in the vicinity had heard McGonagall's outburst. Harry, to his dismay, heard snickering start up in the background as he watched the Transfiguration Professor draw herself up to her full height, her nostrils flaring.

"Mister Potter," McGonagall asked imperiously, "Are you sure you are _up_ to the challenge of being a Champion and overcoming the obstacles that position entails?"

"No," murmured a cheeky voice behind Harry, who flushed and said, "I'm trying my best, Ma'am."

McGonagall pinched the bridge of her nose and asked, "Have you even _tried_ asking a girl out, Mister Potter?"

"Yes ma'am," Harry replied dutifully, trying to ignore the tittering of several girls – all of whom he had asked out in vain - behind him, "All of the girls I… er… asked said no."

The tittering increased in volume. McGonagall looked as if she didn't quite believe him.

"Professor," Hermione ventured, "The Rita Skeeter article in _Witch Weekly_ may have something to do with Harry's troubles."

McGonagall stared at Hermione, drew herself up again and said in a very stiff voice, "I don't subscribe to _Witch Weekly_."

The tittering continued and Hermione looked like she was chastising herself for her attempt to intercede in the conversation.

"Professor," Harry said, "Can't I just go to the Ball by myself?"

McGonagall appeared to be trying very, very hard to control her temper. "No, you _cannot_ go to the Ball by yourself, because it is wizarding _tradition_ for Champions to partake in select activities along with their chosen _companions_ during the Yule Ball. And it is a tradition that has remained unchanged since the inception of the Yule Ball itself. And I won't have the _Hogwarts_ Champion – a _Gryffindor_ moreover - breaking from tradition because of his own inability to secure a _date_. Are we clear, Mister Potter?"

Harry had no choice but to nod and ignore the giggling behind his back.

"Very well," McGonagall said at last, "Since you've proved yourself incapable of persuading _anyone_ to accompany you, Mister Potter, I suppose I must shoulder the burden myself. Rest assured that at the very least, you shall have a companion to _open_ the Ball. I can only hope that is enough."

The Transfiguration Professor turned on her heel abruptly and left the class, which promptly burst into laughter.

Harry sighed tiredly – he could tell it was going to be a _very_ long Ball indeed.

Lily Potter knew there was a very troubling, and perverse, duality when it came to her feelings for Harry Potter.

She looked over her class of Advanced Potions students with what she hoped was a benign eye, but a frown managed to make itself known each time her eyes landed on a particular student – her only _French_ student, Fleur Delacour.

Lily knew, from the wandering eyes of her male students and from every woman's capacity to gauge another woman's appeal to the opposite sex, that Fleur would be a _very_ dangerous woman with respect to Harry, even as a female friend.

Nonetheless, she had felt some relief when Harry himself had denied, without flinching, the validity of the article in _Witch Weekly_. Still, the rumour mill persisted in its insistence on _something_ between Harry and Fleur, and that gave Lily pause when it came to dismissing the Frenchwoman as a threat. Then again, perhaps she was being overtly wary – she herself had never quite seen Fleur interact so intently with her son and the interaction that she _had_ seen, at The Three Broomsticks, had been very awkward indeed.

But then there was that niggling feeling, reinforced by Skeeter's article, which made her think that Harry had lied about his summer affair with Cho Chang. Granted, he had denied that the affair ever happened himself, and had certainly never _claimed_ to have an affair with Cho – her knowledge of it stemmed mostly from Sirius' tendency to gossip - but the inconsistencies between what he _said_ , and what he _did_ , were too overwhelming to escape her notice.

All she knew for certain was this – Harry had been far too talented a lover, from the very beginning of _her_ encounters with him, to have been inexperienced before her. There _had_ been another girl – a girl Harry remained remarkably tight-lipped about – and somehow, that little thought troubled Lily. She had assumed that the affair was past… but the what-ifs associated with that assumption were too numerous for her to ignore.

And that was the crux of it – Lily knew it, and she hoped Harry knew it too: she _loved_ him. And the thought of him with another girl was unbearable; it stoked her jealousy to heights heretofore unseen. Her deep primal attraction towards him – brought on by magic – had now matured into an overwhelming romance, and she couldn't imagine a life _without_ him as a lover.

And as a lover, she was immensely gratified by the fact that a host of circumstances conspired to make Harry an undesirable date to the Yule Ball. As his _mother_ , she knew she should be furious at the fact that no girl was willing to date her son; but she had long since shed _that_ particular label when it came to Harry.

Oh, how she wished _she_ could take him to the Yule Ball without fear of censure – but she _couldn't_. It was an unthinkable, _horrible_ thing. And yet, she persisted in her actions, without guilt, and without self-reproach.

At the end of the day though, she couldn't really do much, apart from keeping a wary eye out for obstacles in the path to fulfilment of her hopes regarding life with _him_. He was _hers_. And she'd be damned if she was going to let anyone else steal him away, no matter _what_ the consequences of persisting in her own affair with him were.

 _A strange dichotomy indeed_ , she thought. She managed to smile at Fleur as the girl asked her a question about the draught they were making and answered it to the best of her ability, despite her troubled mind and wandering thoughts.

He closed his book - _A Beginner's Guide to Relocating Druidic Settlements_ – and waved his wand at the massive tree in front of him, murmuring a chant and hoping the tree would respond to his magic. To his pleasant surprise, it did – the tree swayed and glimmering lights twinkled into existence in its leafy boughs. He then pointed his wand at the ground around the tree and murmured a _second_ spell, forcing a tremendous burst of magic from his wand.

 _At the very least, he thought, Even if all this effort goes to waste, it might still help me with the Second Task._

 _Fat chance, a more cynical part of his mind whispered, That is, unless the Second Task involves repotting plants._

The ground shattered, deep cracks appearing all over it, as if a highly localized earthquake had made itself known at that moment. And then, to the young man's continuing pleasant surprise, the tree _and_ the ground surged up, bits of dirt and mud falling off as the tree, with a massive patch of the ground _rose_ into the air, suspended on _magic_.

He smiled to himself – he might be following a step-by-step guide that dealt with forestry in wizarding terms, but according to the book he had just read, he was actually performing a task that, according to the book again, required five wizards to accomplish. Shouldering simultaneous spells – a hovering charm to keep everything floating, a very complex set of preservation charms to keep the tree from dying, and another suite of detection charms to make sure the other two sets of spells encompassed _all_ of the tree, including its comprehensive root systems – was no easy feat and he could feel the strain on his magic already.

He then walked, with the tree floating behind him, to the edge of the lake, which lay sprawling before him. He then _pushed_ his wand out and the tree, along with its enormous, far-reaching roots, which were poking out even underneath the massive patch of ground he had torn away by force, floated over the lake, its longest root and lowest rootlets barely skimming the surface of the lake.

Halfway through though, he received a slight scare as the tree tipped over dangerously, and the young man chided himself for losing focus. He strengthened his determination and pushed harder, magic surging through him as the tree righted itself and floated over to the little island, near the middle of the lake, which faced the castle's Astronomy tower.

He then lowered the tree ever so gently onto the ground and sang a different chant, unleashing a separate suite of charms and associated spells. The roots were _coaxed_ to find themselves at home – they were animated, motivated to dig deep, burrow underneath the soft soil, and out through the sides, so that they could draw the requisite nutrition from the lake itself. The lights and runes that he had conjured out of thin air vanished as the tree rehabilitated itself to its new surroundings, standing alone, but imperious, over the tranquil surface of the lake.

He then got onto his broomstick and floated over to the little island, making sure that everything was to his satisfaction. He landed on the island and continued casting spells – a little ward against detection here and a charm to alert anyone on the island to a roving nearby intruder there and hoped that it would be enough.

Granted, the island itself, despite the fact that it was shielded from view of the castle (save the magnificent Astronomy tower) by an overhanging cliff along the near edge of the lake, was still a very risky venue – and perhaps he _was_ being incredibly foolish by hoping his ploy would work – but he hoped _she_ knew better wards than he did, and that _she_ would be willing to contribute to the security of the area and make it less conspicuous to others.

At the very least, even if she _did_ abhor the venue, he hoped she would appreciate the effort and reward him with her trust, if with nothing else.

Harry Potter smiled and continued to added little touches to the little island that he would henceforth call, 'The Picnic Spot.'


	15. The Yule Ball, Part I

The Yule Ball, Part I: Music, Drama and A Prophecy

Harry didn't think his evening could get much worse than the experience of standing next to Gemma Farley – the Head Girl of Hogwarts – in a small room with the other champions, and their dates, as they all waited for McGonagall's cue to enter the Great Hall.

"Potter," Farley grit out and Harry sighed internally, "When we're dancing, don't you _dare_ touch me any more than is absolutely necessary. Do you understand? And if you _do_ have to touch me, _skim_ the surface of my robes."

Harry did not even bother to indicate that he had heard her – he just added her instruction to the apparently infinite pile of _Don'ts_ that Farley seemed intent on communicating to him.

"I'm _only_ doing this because the Deputy Headmistress told me to escort you to the Ball," Farley continued in a louder voice, "This is about saving the school's reputation, and it's a favour to _you_. This doesn't benefit _me_ in any way."

"Right," Harry said, trying to keep his temper from blowing over.

He looked around, trying to distract himself from Farley's vehemence at having to accompany an 'ickle fourth-year' to the Yule Ball, and regretted his decision immediately. Fleur seemed to have reverted to her old self and was staring resolutely at the door, pretending not to hear a word, while drinking in every syllable that tumbled from Farley's mouth. Davies made no bones about hiding his amusement – he was smirking at Harry, while trying to lay his hand over the shoulder of an unaccommodating Fleur. Krum just gave Farley a commiserating look and then looked at his date sourly – a Hogwarts sixth-year who looked like she couldn't believe her luck and was presently fawning all over the famous seeker.

Harry went back to staring at the floor.

"And," Farley continued, "I'm _not_ sitting with you at dinner. So five seconds after we enter the hall, you _will_ break away and head to the table at the head of the hall, and _I_ shall go to _my_ friends."

"Yup," Harry concurred, trying to inject as much annoyance into his voice as he could.

Farley opened her mouth as if she wanted to say something else, but McGonagall walked up to them at that moment, ushering them in, even as the doors opened.

Harry frowned at the sudden glare of light that followed, but his frown turned into a smile as he beheld the incredibly festive-looking Great Hall. Wreaths were hung up at regular intervals all along the walls, and highly elaborate topiaries, decorated with flowers, and animated with complex magic, were placed strategically around the large room – Harry surmised that the room was far larger than it usually was, perhaps by virtue of the castle's innate magic. A large stage was set up along one end of the hall, with a long table atop it. A massive crowd was clustered in the Great Hall and the sound of thunderous applause reverberated throughout the large space as they all clapped at the entrance of the Champions.

Harry carefully kept his hands from touching his 'date' as they slowly made their way to the long table at the head of the Great Hall. Just as he reached the stage, Farley slunk away and Harry's shoulders slumped in relief at not having to endure her presence any longer than was necessary.

Eventually, Harry made his way to the dinner table and stood behind a large wooden chair. He saw Fleur look hesitantly at him as she hesitated near the chair right opposite his, with Davies next to her; eventually, Fleur looked like she had made up her mind – however, she gave Harry an uncertain glance as she prowled away to the _other_ end of the table.

 _Chalk up another point for Rita Skeeter, Harry thought wryly._

After Krum had made his way to the other end of the table, and took the seat next to Fleur's, though his date eventually managed to make him sit a bit away from the quarter-veela, the staff members at Hogwarts – except Filch, to Harry's relief – came to the dinner table. The sound of a gong followed, and they all sat down. That appeared to be the cue for the others clustered in the Hall as well, who sat down immediately at the small round tables placed at regular intervals along the hall.

Much to Harry's surprise, _Narcissa_ sat right opposite him and Lily took the seat to his left. A very handsome-looking wizard took the seat to Narcissa's right, and opposite Lily. Flitwick and McGonagall occupied the seats diagonally opposite him, and to his right, respectively.

Eventually, following Dumbledore's cue – the Headmaster looked at a menu and just ordered the dishes he wanted, which promptly appeared, along with plates and assorted cutlery – they all looked at the simple menus in front of them and placed their desired orders.

Harry, however, was distracted from digging in by Narcissa – however, this time around, it was a less than pleasant distraction. Narcissa was making conversation with the wizard next to her, and appeared… _enthralled_ by him, hanging onto his every word in uncharacteristic fashion. Harry glanced at the wizard and grimaced as he noticed that the man appeared to be sculpted from marble – a long, Grecian nose, perfectly formed features, a fashionable goatee, and a spiked head of blonde hair – and looked like he had just burst into existence from the pages of a heroic romance novel. He appeared to be ridiculously well-built too – the muscles in his forearms bunched up each time he ladled some soup into his own bowl.

"Well, aren't I a fortunate wizard," he said in a deep voice and what appeared to be a perfect Oxbridge accent, "I appear to be _surrounded_ by women. Beautiful women, moreover."

Narcissa laughed softly and Lily, much to Harry's chagrin, _blushed_.

"The Hogwarts hiring policy seems pleasantly biased towards the fairer sex," the man continued, "Although, I wouldn't necessarily say that it's a _bad_ thing."

"Oh, don't worry, Pierre," Narcissa said, "I'm sure there's more than enough of you to go around."

The man – Pierre – flushed, but managed to counter, "Not enough for _this_ crowd, I'm afraid."

"Pierre?" Lily said, perking up, "Monsieur Pierre Chevalier?"

"The very same, I'm afraid," the man replied.

"My _goodness_ ," Lily said, dropping her fork and extending her hand in surprise, "Your book on advanced warding techniques is practically the _best_ guide there is in the market when it comes to safeguarding valuable… property."

"Indeed," Narcissa said, though she gave Lily a mild frown, "Half of the wards around Malfoy Manor are based on your… customized schemes."

"I'm flattered that you recognize my name, Miss Potter," Chevalier said with a smile, "And I'm incredibly gratified to think that my book was so helpful to so many."

He then pointed between himself and Narcissa. "Narcissa and I," he said, "We were just discussing the various possible permutations of runes that may have been used to ward, and perhaps control, the enchanted path during the First Task."

"Oh?" Lily asked curiously.

Chevalier quickly drew out a piece of paper from a sleeve of his robe – a robe that looked incredibly fashionable – and placed it on the table so that it faced Lily. Harry caught a glimpse of a very complex arithmantic equation before his view was blocked by Lily, who leaned forward and examined the equation intently.

"I'm afraid Arithmancy isn't exactly my strong suit," Lily said mildly and Narcissa smirked, "But I suppose I know enough of Runes to say that a set of runes based on _this_ particular scheme would be very relevant to an enchanted road of the sort we saw in the First Task."

"Ah," the man said, winking at Lily, who promptly blushed again, much to Harry's continuing annoyance, "But I _didn't_ see the First Task. As soon as I heard of it, I just had to whip out a pen and scribble out an equation that would match the description of the path. It is an incredible creation, is it not? I marvel at the fact that a magical feat of that nature could have been accomplished on so short a schedule and executed with such aplomb at an inter-school tournament."

"If what I've heard is right," Lily said, "Gringotts had a lot to do with that."

"Yes," Narcissa affirmed, looking mildly disgusted with herself for agreeing with Lily, though Lily appeared no less miffed either, "Apparently, a few human wizards in the employ of Gringotts were tasked with… constructing this path."

"I see," the man said, his eyes lighting up, "That is… enlightening. Then again, I probably should not be so surprised – Gringotts does hire the best magical talent out there."

Narcissa nodded.

"So, Monsieur Chevalier," Lily asked, still looking a bit star-struck, "I'm assuming you teach at Beauxbatons, considering the fact that you're seated here?"

That was when Harry noticed that his table was not merely comprised of the Hogwarts staff – there were quite a few new faces mixing with the more familiar ones; apparently, some of the staff from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang were present as well.

"Yes," Chevalier said graciously, "I do – I teach the equivalent of Defence against the Dark Arts."

Lily's smile lost a bit of its lustre, and Narcissa preened.

"After all," the man continued, "While I'm sure our champion – Fleur – is receiving the best of education here at Hogwarts, there are certain… peculiar requirements and details she should be aware of if she is to write her final-year exams this year.

"Besides, it is simply not fair that the Hogwarts Champion should be guided by such capable hands while _our_ champion is left to the mercy of her extremely busy Headmistress, is it? Of course, I do not allege unfairness on the parts – and such _fine_ parts they are - of yourselves… for if the Hogwarts Champion _were_ guided by your capable hands, I'm sure he would have fared… differently… in the First Task."

It was like Harry wasn't even _there_. He grit his teeth as he noticed both Narcissa and Lily continue to smile at the man.

"But I am far more curious about something else," Chevalier continued, much to Harry's irritation, "The Second Task. Have you… _any_ of you, any knowledge of it? Know that I ask only to sate my own curiosity, so perhaps I ask too much of all of you… ah, what am I _thinking_? There is a Champion in our midst, after all."

He was clearly talking about Harry, who looked dully at him.

"I was told the Champions received a set of clues that would enlighten them insofar as what the second task would entail…?" the man asked eagerly.

Harry confined himself to a nod. He said tersely, "The other champions did."

"Yes, the Champions who _completed_ the first task _did_ receive a set of clues," Narcissa said, and quite loudly, much to Harry's consternation, "The Hogwarts Champion though…"

"Ah, yes," the man said, affecting sadness, "I suppose I was quite unkind earlier - I'm truly sorry, Mister Potter."

He waited a breath, and Harry was forced to reply, "Don't worry about it, sir."

The man smiled benignly and continued, "So, I suppose you ladies would not be so kind, or so mercifully unfair, as to enlighten both Mister Potter and myself with a scant few details regarding the Second Task? Or perhaps, furnish us with a set of clues as well?"

"I'm afraid not," Lily said with a smile, "Primarily because I do not know the details myself."

"Ah," Chevalier replied.

"But," Narcissa _purred_ , "Perhaps you _could_ tease it out with the right _persuasion_."

Lily choked on her pumpkin juice. She leaned back, as Narcissa fawned over a very pleasantly surprised Chevalier, and whispered to Harry, "Is it just me, or is the Defence bitch actually coming on to the Frenchman?"

"I guess she is," Harry muttered with a grumpy frown, "And she's not the only one."

"What?" Lily asked, turning to face him and searching his eyes, "You think I'm… we're…? No! What?"

And she turned away indignantly at the accusation. Harry suddenly felt contrite, but Lily determinedly engaged Professor Sinistra in conversation and ignored Harry for the rest of the dinner, forcing him to listen to the irritatingly, and increasingly, flirtatious banter between Narcissa and Chevalier.

Mercifully though, McGonagall forced him to cut his dinner short as the Deputy Headmistress whispered into his right ear, "Mister Potter, where _is_ your date? The music shall start up soon, and you _must_ open the ball!"

And then, she proceeded to level him with a stare so patronizing, that he was forced to excuse himself to go find Farley.

It took him around twenty minutes to sort through all of the tables and find the Head Girl; she was sitting at a table right in the middle of the hall with a gang of her housemates, who all happened to be Slytherins. Harry endured the taunts and threats with relative ease, owing to all the recent practice he had with insults flung at him like they were greetings, while he informed Farley of McGonagall's request – granted, McGonagall had not phrased it like a request, but Harry supposed he had little to lose by being polite.

The Head Girl pursed her lips and with a hiss of, "You _better_ not touch my arse, pervert," led him to the edge of the dance floor, where a very anxious McGonagall – who was apparently wondering if Harry had run away to avoid the burden of dancing with a girl, though, to be fair, he _had_ been tempted to do so more than once, stuck as he was in the _delightful_ company of Farley – and the other Champions, along with their dates, were standing.

He waited another five minutes, staring at the lovely desserts that he had never quite gotten a chance to sample, and hoping that the house elves would be willing to serve him the remaining food if he was polite enough, before the music began to start up – a slow and simple symphony that segued into grand orchestral music.

Harry could feel the heat of all the stares in the Great Hall as he spun in place with Farley, taking care to keep his hands over her hip, and barely skimming her robes like she wanted. _She_ on the other hand, huffed and muttered various imprecations under her breath, as she laid her hands firmly on his shoulders and _spun_ him around forcefully.

Eventually, Dumbledore and McGonagall opened up the dance floor to the other couples and the slow waltz truly began; Farley abandoned Harry with a sigh of relief, who, in turn, was left to navigate his way through the various circling couples so that he could take a seat next to Hermione and Luna, in front of a small fountain.

"Not dancing?" he asked the bushy-haired girl as he shifted in his seat, making himself comfortable.

"Not yet," Hermione said with a weak smile, "Not that I don't _want_ to. It's just…"

"The Nargles don't take same-gender couples too well," Luna murmured.

"What she said," Hermione agreed with a tilt of her head.

"Right," Harry responded. He then stared at the circling couples for a while, before he turned to Hermione and asked, "You think this ballroom-dancing will end soon?"

"Oh, sure," Hermione said excitedly, "The Weird Sisters are going to start up soon, and all of these waltzing couples shall break up; _then_ we'll join the crowd inconspicuously."

"And hopefully, grind against each other a lot," Luna said spiritedly. Harry laughed and Hermione blushed.

"Farley was _very_ obnoxious," Hermione observed with a frown and gazed upon Harry with pity, "That must have been a chore."

"Tell me about it," Harry muttered.

"Stupid bint wouldn't know a good date if it struck her in the face," Hermione said, "You're more than what _she_ deserved."

"Sure doesn't feel like it," Harry murmured.

"Harry," Hermione said with a snap of her fingers, "Do I have to do this _every_ time? You're one of the most handsome fourth years here… if it wasn't for that _ridiculous_ article, and the moronic tendency everyone here seems to have that compels them to believe every word Skeeter writes, you would be on that floor, enjoying yourself!"

"It's not… that," Harry tried to explain, but gave it up as a bad job. It wasn't like he could tell Hermione he was in low spirits because his _much_ older lover had dumped him for a handsome Frenchman.

Hermione stared at him inquisitively for a while, but when she saw that he wasn't too forthcoming, she decided to switch topics. Which was a woeful prospect for Harry, because Hermione leaned in and asked, "Was that… Pierre _Chevalier_ \- the famous curse-breaker and ward expert - sitting opposite you at dinner?"

Harry managed to keep himself from glaring. "Yes," he said in a level voice that surprised even himself, "It was. He teaches Defence at Beauxbatons."

"Oh," Hermione said, "Er… why is he here?"

Harry resisted the opportunity to mimic the man's ponderous speech with some effort. "Apparently," he said instead, "The staff of both Beauxbatons and Durmstrang received open invitations as well. Some of them accepted, including Monsieur Chevalier. I guess it also offers them the opportunity to catch up with the champions, who _have_ to stay at the host school."

"It must get really lonely for them," Hermione reflected, "Imagine having to attend classes with perfect strangers in an uncomfortable language. I keep bumping into Fleur between classes all the time… and she always seems so… lonely."

Harry coughed and waggled its eyebrows. Hermione blushed and muttered, "Don't say it. Don't you _dare_ say _anything_."

Harry raised his palms in mock surrender. Hermione glared at him for a moment, before she softened up and said thoughtfully, "I've never really bumped into Krum though."

"Well, don't feel _too_ sorry for him," Harry said, "Apparently, he gets private lessons up in that ship of his."

"Really?" Hermione asked, and she appeared highly interested, "How… do _you_ know about this? And how exactly did he go about hiring private tutors?"

Harry grinned. "I don't think we'd be able to afford private tuitions, Hermione," he said, "I heard Mom talking about it once, and it costs a small fortune. And I heard about Krum from her as well."

Luna, appearing as oblivious as always, got up demurely and told Hermione she was going to walk around the hall and talk to Ginny, who was taking a breather from being stepped on by a very flushed-looking Neville. Hermione gave her assent and then proceeded to stare at Chevalier, who, much to Harry's consternation, appeared to be finishing his dinner, along with Narcissa. "He's _very_ handsome, isn't he?" she asked.

Harry desperately fished for another topic, but much to his surprise, he landed on a very relevant subject.

"Speaking of handsome Professors," Harry asked tentatively, "What… er… why were you… erm… attracted to Lockhart?"

"I suppose I was still a bit… confused?" Hermione said, waving her palm uncertainly, "I didn't know _what_ I wanted, I was still figuring things out, etcetera. I don't know… _this_ might be a _phase_ , for all I know. I don't _know_ , to be honest. I've _read_ about how female sexuality is more fluid and all that, but I don't _know_. All I know for sure is this – I'm honestly attracted to women _now_."

Harry looked at her intently and smiled. "Just curious," he said. Then, they both observed the dancing couples in silence for a couple of minutes.

"I hadn't quite noticed this before," Hermione said idly, relaxing against Harry's shoulder, "But Hogwarts has quite a few great-looking couples, doesn't it?"

"I suppose," Harry said.

Hermione gestured to a particular couple that was dancing twenty feet away from them. "Like Chang and Diggory," she said.

Harry _had_ to admit that Cho Chang and Cedric Diggory cut an incredibly well-matched and good-looking sight indeed. "Yep," he said tersely.

"Or… as much as I _loathe_ the boy, Zabini and Marietta make for a great-looking couple," Hermione said. Harry spared them a glance and nodded – the tall, dark and handsome Zabini was a very graceful contrast to the fair and curly-haired Marietta.

"Parvati and Dean?" he suggested.

Hermione looked at the couple he had pointed out and nodded. "They're not exactly a couple though, but I suppose you're right," she said.

"You and Luna look very, _very_ pretty too," Harry said cheekily.

"You're a bold one, aren't you?" Hermione said, and giggled. "Thank you," she said warmly, "But really, the amount of Sleakeasy I had to use was horrendous. Luna looks pretty with nary an effort, but _I_ , on the other hand…"

"Bah," Harry proclaimed, "I shall hear no slander against our fair Hermione." Hermione laughed.

"Speaking of great-looking couples," Hermione said, pointing in a specific direction, "My _goodness_ do those two Professors look _amazing_ together. Oh, if only Professor Malfoy was single and eligible…"

Harry turned, with a considerable degree of horror, to behold Narcissa pressed closely into Pierre Chevalier, as they twirled with enviable grace on the dance floor. He noticed that he wasn't the only one staring at the couple. Several other students – mostly girls – were gazing at the couple with admiring glances and wistful sighs.

"Do you think they both _learned_ how to dance like that?" Hermione said breathlessly, "It's just… they look _great_ together! They look like they've walked right out of a movie!"

Harry felt his stomach drop within him as that same _ache_ filled his chest again. He felt as though she was slipping out right through his clenched fingers and he cursed himself for ever thinking that what they had – the moments they had shared, the caresses they had bestowed so generously upon the other – would last if only he tried hard enough to hold on.

It was… disheartening. _Sad_. Harry's face became dangerously blank as he stared, a bloom of self-pity flowering in his chest and a pang of heartbreak filling him, at the sight of Narcissa whispering something into Pierre's ear with a smile, and Pierre blushing in turn. He _knew_ her – he knew how enticing her innuendos were, how effortlessly she could seduce, how skilfully she could spin a web of allure around her desired… _victim_.

 _Rage. Sorrow. Hatred._

Harry tried to breathe, tried to relax, but the world felt far crueller than it had during the aftermath of the First Task. But then again, he had all the comfort two affectionate lovers could provide him with _then_ ; now, though, he appeared to be losing a lover to, by the opinions of most, a _better man_. Worse, Lily was nowhere to be seen… and either way, could he be so sure that Lily would stay _with_ him? Or would she grow bored and seize upon the opportunity to snare a better man too?

And it all _hurt_. Worse than he had ever imagined the pain of such heartbreak could be.

He had nowhere to turn, no sympathetic ear he could unburden it all to, for even _Hermione_ did not know his secrets, not that his secrets were much for divulging to civilized society.

And then, mercifully, Chevalier and Narcissa stopped dancing as the music stopped. He saw Chevalier excuse himself immediately and mingle with a few others – mostly Beauxbatons students – as Narcissa stood to the side, sipping on a glass of wine she had apparently summoned to herself, and talking to a pink-haired witch.

Harry heard, rather than listened to, Hermione get up and tell him she was going to find Luna. All he knew was the sight of Narcissa, standing tall in her tailored and figure-hugging robes, with her hair done up elaborately to frame her beautiful, delicate face in perfect fashion; and a smidgen of hope ballooned in his chest. Perhaps… _perhaps_ everything between them could be repaired by _one_ more attempt from him. One more try.

So he got up and walked over to Narcissa, trying and failing to keep his heart from hammering in his chest.

Narcissa sipped on her wine, savouring the sweet taste, her mind whirling with incredibly varied thoughts and emotions.

 _What was she doing?_

"So," a female voice said, startling her, "I s'pose you're alright after all."

Narcissa turned and recognized Nymphadore Tonks – the auror trainee was wearing a very fashionable purple robe, but her ridiculous sense of style still persisted to make her less than beautiful in Narcissa's eyes. And that _was_ a pity, because Tonks had _such_ a pretty face.

"Nymphadora," Narcissa greeted.

"Would you _please_ not call me that?" Tonks asked.

"I'm afraid not," Narcissa said with a smile, "I'm _never_ going to call you Tonks."

"You're _evil_ ," Tonks said, "Very, _very_ evil."

Narcissa laughed.

"But very, _very_ beautiful too," Tonks said sourly, "Evil people should never look as good as you do."

"Do go on," Narcissa said, "It's been a while since I've been flattered like that."

"Really?" Tonks asked, "I'd have thought dancing with a hunk like that should be more than flattering."

It took Narcissa a moment to realize exactly _who_ Tonks was talking about. "Pierre?" she said, "I… suppose so."

 _What was she doing?_

"Who _is_ this Pierre-hunk anyway?" Tonks asked, waggling her eyebrows.

"A very famous Arithmancer and Defence expert – he's the best-selling author of several books on warding, enchanting and runic schemes," Narcissa replied automatically, her mind still whirling with uncomfortable thoughts – of betrayal, of escape, of _hurt_.

"Sounds boring," Tonks said, "But hey, I guess that body more than makes up for it, eh? I could eat _sushi_ off that, y'know?"

"I suppose," Narcissa replied.

 _What was she doing?_

"Professor Malfoy?" a horribly familiar voice asked that sent shivers up her spine.

She turned around, barely managing to keep her expression undisturbed as she was greeted with the sight of a troubled-looking Harry Potter.

"Yes?" she asked, her voice unexpectedly harsh, even to her own ears.

"I… I was wondering if I could have a dance," Harry asked, drawing himself up and searching her eyes for… _something_.

"Mister Potter," she said, each word forming in her mouth, only partly of her own volition, "I should hope you have enough young women of your _own_ age group to sate your designs on the opposite sex."

Harry's eyes widened and he looked struck as he recoiled, even as Tonks whistled softly behind her. He let out a breath and then… trembled, nodded, turned, and practically jogged away from her, making his way _right_ through the crowd as if to get as far away from her as possible.

 _What was she doing?_

"Harsh," Tonks said from behind her, "But I guess he deserves that for being so cheeky, eh? Guess the Skeeter article was right all along, huh?"

Narcissa barely heard her niece as she stared at Harry's retreating back.

 _What had she done?_

Lily looked around frantically for Harry – she felt a tad sorry for ignoring him at dinner, for she _had_ been guilty of being a little star-struck. However, she still maintained that she had not been _enamoured_ of Pierre Chevalier, but Harry may have been hard-pressed to distinguish between attraction and celebrity-worship.

Moreover, Lily desperately wanted some time with Harry, and it appeared to be a particularly romantic night for that – while temperatures were considerably low outside, they were not so low that a romantic walk around the lake would be encumbered by the cold.

However, she was cut off from her search by a very boisterous Sirius Black. "Lily!" the shaggy-haired man greeted her, cutting a dapper figure in his goatee and spiff robes.

"Sirius?" Lily asked, bewildered and a little annoyed at being interrupted in her search for Harry – she had been dressed in her very best robes _particularly_ for him, "What are you doing here?"

"DMLE duty, blah, blah, blah, safety during the Yule Ball, blah," Sirius said.

Lily smiled despite herself. "Shouldn't you be outside then?" she asked, crossing her arms, "I'm sure Amelia would find it _very_ interesting that you're shirking duty to drink a glass of wine."

"You wound me, Lily," Sirius proclaimed, "I do _not_ shirk duty for a _glass_ of wine. Now _two_ glasses of wine, on the other hand…"

Lily laughed.

"Anyway," Sirius said, "Believe it or not, I actually have a valid excuse for absconding this time around."

Lily looked _very_ sceptical at that, but Sirius leaned in and whispered, "Awfully fiery weather, is it not?"

"It is," Lily whispered automatically, falling back into old habits seamlessly, "Though I expected forked lightning."

They looked at each other for a moment, before Lily recovered and asked, " _Now_?"

Sirius nodded and walked away from her, skilfully weaving around the Weasley twins, who appeared to be jumping around their exasperated dates, apparently mimicking some weird tribal dance. Lily walked in the opposite direction for a while, before she circled back around the Great Hall and made her inconspicuous way up to the Headmaster's Office, but not before giving one last wistful glance at the party and wishing fervently for another peaceful night like this one, with just her and Harry.

Lily entered the office last and held her breath as she beheld the inside of Albus Dumbledore's workplace. The wise old wizard himself was draped in the same flamboyant dress robes he had worn during the Ball and was seated behind his usual table, his eyes twinkling with good humour. But it was the _rest_ of his guests that set Lily on edge – it was the _old_ crowd, the same as it had always been, save for a few missing faces, and a couple of new ones.

Alastor Moody and Minerva McGonagall sat on either side of Dumbledore – the Transfiguration Professor as stern as ever and the old battle-scarred auror as paranoid as he had ever been, laying a wary eye upon each occupant of the room in turn. The rest were arrayed in their usual seats around the room: Hestia Jones, the rich and powerful socialite, her face still bearing traces of the immense beauty she had possessed in her youth, sat in a chair to the left of Minerva, while Emmeline Vance, the tall and powerful duellist, famed for holding Bellatrix Lestrange at bay during a particularly brutal confrontation between the Ministry and the Death Eaters during the First Wizarding War, was seated to Alastor's right. Sirius and Remus were at their usual seats at the end of the room. Ahead of them were seated the old veterans Elphias Doge, Sturgis Podmore and Dedalus Diggle – friends and allies of Albus Dumbledore since time immemorial. And on either side of Sirius and Remus, where Frank and Alice used to sit, were a couple of new faces – a couple of very familiar faces, sending a pang through Lily's heart… Arthur and Molly.

The seats James and she took, between Sirius and Remus, had now been reduced to a single chair – meant for _her_. It was at once a reminder of how much things _hadn't_ changed during her long sleep and of how her sacrifice had not quite succeeded in ending the war that had torn so many lives apart.

With some effort, Lily composed herself and sat down, smiling weakly at the old crowd who all nodded at her.

"Now that we are all here, and have made ourselves comfortable," Albus said mildly, "I suppose I can bring to order the first meeting of the newly reformed Order of the Pheonix."

Half the room gasped, including Lily. Yet another unpleasant reminder of a horrible past.

"He's… back?" Sirius asked, his voice tinged with a fair bit of horror.

Albus held out his hands. "I don't mean to raise alarms unduly," he said, "However, I trust all of you enough to know that you trust _me_ in turn. Therefore, I shall make this very clear; some of you know this fact already, but for those of you that are not aware: Lord Voldemort is not _dead_."

This time, Elphias, Hestia, Dedalus and Emmeline gasped, while the others looked a bit ruffled, but not surprised at the information.

"I shall not torment you with the details of Lord Voldemort's… _un_ death," Albus said with a wry smile, "Primarily because I, myself, am still in the process of uncovering every possible rumour about the _nature_ of Lord Voldemort – the rituals he has performed, the arcane arts he claims to be a master of, and the necromancy that he was familiar with."

The entire room seemed to have held its breath.

"However, I suppose it is only fair to let you know that my information about Voldemort's persistence, comes not from a third party, unless my own two eyes can be treated as one," Dumbledore continued, "I saw a shade of the former Dark Lord attempt to steal a _very_ valuable artefact I once housed in this school, unaware of its true appeal."

"What sort of artefact?" Alastor asked curiously, "And you kept it here? In this school?"

"I suppose _some_ part of me was aware that what I was doing _was_ akin to playing with fire," Albus said, his tone wry, "But it was immensely necessary for the artefact to be here, at Hogwarts, for I needed its presence to try and concoct a very important potion."

Emmeline spluttered, "You kept a dangerous artefact here to… create a _potion_?"

"The artefact itself was not dangerous," Minerva replied in lieu of Albus, "But it was extremely important for Albus to create that potion. After all, it was _that_ very potion that revived Lily Potter."

 _That_ part, Lily knew very well – but she was still unprepared for the information to be unleashed upon them so abruptly. She could not help but turn a bit pale.

"Oh," Emmeline said softly, with an apologetic glance at Lily, "Right. Sorry."

Lily shrugged.

Albus sighed. "As always, Minerva is very passionate in her defence of my character," he said, "And she _may_ have let slip more than I would have liked, but no matter; I shall reveal no more of the artefact that was kept here – aside from the fact that it was dangerous not by virtue of itself, but by virtue of those who lusted after it. However, I suspect, that you shall all come to know the nature of the artefact in question as we proceed through the information I shall impart to you during the course of this meeting.

"Nonetheless, to my dismay, but not surprise – for I was already aware of his possible existence as a shade – Lord Voldemort, by way of our _then_ -Defence-Professor Quirinus, tried to seize this artefact for himself."

"Quirinus? Quirinus Quirrel?" Hestia asked curiously, "He was… a Death Eater?"

"Not to my knowledge," Albus said, "No, he was not controlled by the Dark Lord's _charisma_ ; rather, he was a vehicle for the Dark Lord himself. One body, two souls. A _possession_ , as it were."

"I'm guessing you thwarted him," Elphias said, in an admiring tone.

"Not I," Albus said, "No, _I_ did not thwart him. Little Harry Potter – a first-year at the time – did."

The part of the group that was not aware of the events surrounding Harry's first year gasped, and gave Lily a wondrous glance or two. Lily had no idea if she should smile with pride, or turn white with horror, at the thought of an eleven-year-old Harry Potter confront a dark wizard possessed by the Dark Lord.

"However," Albus continued, "I arrived in the nick of time to prevent any ill from befalling the injured Harry Potter, but not in time enough to capture the shade of Lord Voldemort. Although, I dare not claim with certainty that I _could_ have destroyed, or even affected, the shade to any degree."

"And you think this… shade… is still kicking?" Alastor asked.

"More than that, Alastor," Albus replied, " _Much_ more than that. I think he has called upon _some_ of his followers, at the very least, to help him achieve a goal that still bewilders me."

"We all know what the Dark Lord's goal was, don't we?" Molly asked.

"Do we? Do we truly?" Albus asked, "Or is this persecution of muggles and muggleborn merely a front for a more sinister end-game?"

"Wait. What evidence do we have that this shade of Voldemort has even summoned his past followers to him?" Sturgis asked, "And why would these followers even _want_ to help a master who is weak himself?"

"In reply to you first question… no evidence whatsoever," Albus said, "Except for evidence of the circumstantial kind, I'm afraid. But the signs are all there – missing individuals, mysterious deaths and strange sightings. Such as the sighting of Bellatrix Lestrange that _you_ had, Alastor."

Some members scoffed, but Mad-Eye nodded and said in a dark voice, "Saw her clear as day, standing barely twenty feet away from me." He tapped his magical eye and continued, "I might be old, but my eyesight is far _better_ than it was in my youth. It _was_ Bellatrix Lestrange – I have no doubt about that."

"Did you… engage her in a duel?" Emmeline asked, stiffening in her chair, "That is, if we believe your words to be true?"

"A duel… with _her_?" Alastor spluttered, "Do you think me senile, Vance? The odds were entirely against me; she's bad enough by herself, but she had a partner – a tall male in a hooded cloak. I wasn't about to duel both of them myself. I promptly cast a couple of spells to distract them and jumped into the floo. When I came back, with Albus and Arthur at my side, the intruders had long since disappeared."

Arthur Weasley nodded meekly when Lily turned to look at him. A short silence followed, which was ultimately broken by Albus.

"And even more disturbing is a particular news that has recently reached my ears," Albus said, "The death of the Flamels."

Lily gasped and so did Minerva, who apparently had not heard that particular bit of information before, but to her surprise, no one else did.

Albus smiled benignly at Lily. "It is only fitting that our Potions mistress is well-aware of _who_ the Flamels are," he said, "It is not common knowledge."

"Nicolas Flamel is the only known creator of the Philosopher's Stone," she breathed.

 _That_ invited several more gasps and exclamations of surprise – practically every wizard and witch seated in the room had heard of the legendary Philosopher's Stone.

"You apprenticed under him – so you'd know more about the Philosopher's Stone," Lily continued, addressing Albus, "The alchemically _perfect_ object."

"You flatter me," Albus said dismissively, "But I had _very_ little to do with the Stone itself. My apprenticeship had far more to do with dragon-blood and its uses than Nicolas' treasured artefact."

"But… wasn't the Stone destroyed?" Minerva asked.

"Why would anyone destroy so powerful a creation?" Hestia asked curiously.

"Because _that_ was the artefact that was kept at Hogwarts, and _that_ was the artefact that revived Miss Potter, and _that_ was the artefact that the Dark Lord tried to seize," Alastor said shrewdly.

Albus inclined his head as part of the room gaped at him and Minerva looked abashed. "Indeed," he said, "Though I do not think it necessary to remind you of this particular instruction, I shall do so anyway: the information that Alastor, and to some extent, Minerva, imparted to you, should _not_ , by any chance, spread outside this very room.

"And yes, that was why Nicolas assured me the stone would be destroyed – because it was too powerful a creation to be kept secret for long without attracting the attention of powerful wizards who were not likely to be incited to peace and the detachment that arises from true wisdom.

"However, at the time of their deaths, the corpses of Nicolas and his wife, Perenelle, according to the Bulgarian officials who performed an autopsy of the scene, were _too_ young to have been deprived of the Elixir for long. And I know for a fact that Nicolas did not store so much of the Elixir that it would last beyond three or four weeks at a time. It's been three _years_ since I was told the Stone was destroyed."

"So he lied to you?" Lily asked.

"Perhaps," Albus said, his lips pursed, "Perhaps it is a reminder of how fallible I am, or perhaps it is merely a reminder of how much there is to the world that I know nothing of.

"But I digress – effectively, _yes_. Nicolas _must_ have lied to me – the Philosopher's Stone, for the purpose of this discussion, may be assumed to have persisted beyond its purported date of obliteration."

"So," Hestia asked, frowning, "How did the Flamels die?"

"Wait," Sirius asked in turn, "Before that… how many people knew the Flamels were even staying in Bulgaria? Wasn't their house warded?"

Albus smiled at Sirius. "Very perceptive," he said, "As befits an auror trainee. And the answer to your first question, Sirius, is this: the Bulgarian Ministry did _not_ know Nicolas Flamel resided there – they identified the corpses as those of the registered occupants of the quaint little cottage the Flamels were staying in: Allister and Irene Gossamer. Very few people knew that the Flamels were staying at _that_ particular cottage near Sofia.

"And the answer to your second question is: the house was extremely well-warded. I say _extremely_ , because the house had very ancient and immensely powerful wards protecting it – wards that _should_ be beyond the capability of ordinary wizards and witches… that should take _days_ to break down. And the fact that such wards were torn down with no evidence of a magical backlash whatsoever points to the idea that this was the work of an extraordinary talent."

"Or a former Dark Lord," Alastor completed in a harsh voice. Lily shivered at the dark proclamation.

"Yes," Albus said, "However, Alastor, we must remember that Voldemort was as powerful as he was, not merely because _he_ was an inherently capable wizard, but because he commanded prodigious talent and because his underlings were extraordinarily accomplished.

"And I suppose we have avoided Hestia's question for too long. The Flamels were murdered in their homes."

The room appeared to have expected that answer, so Albus continued, "Perenelle Flamel, who was one of the best blade-wielders I have ever seen this side of the British Isles, was found beheaded by some sharp implement, her own sword lying at her side. I cannot satisfactorily express the dismay I feel at this news – for I do not exaggerate Perenelle's skill with the blade, when I say that she was the sort of swordswoman whose likeness is not very well-known in this world.

"And Nicolas' body… it was found nailed to a chair, and there were signs of intense magical torture."

Emmeline sat up in her chair, her face white. She glanced at Alastor for a moment, before she looked intently at Albus and said, "Bellatrix. Bellatrix was _known_ to be a prodigious talent with the sword."

"… And the wand," Hestia added.

"That's actually part of what I don't get," Lily interjected, "I've always thought of Nicolas Flamel as this sort of powerful wizard who has six hundred years of training under his command. The idea that he could be beaten by a witch barely a few years above me…"

"… Is impossible?" Albus asked mildly. He smiled and shook his head. "For all his strengths," Albus continued, "Which were many and included mastery in such subjects as Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, Alchemy and so on and so forth, Nicolas was _not_ what I'd call a battle-mage. He was an academically inclined pacifist who chose to stay out of worldly affairs and mind his own business, rather than a sorcerer who sought to train himself in combat for ever and ever. His wife was far more inclined to train in martial combat, but even a passionate interest in swordplay can pass after three hundred years of relentless training.

"Truth be told, now that I come to think of it," Albus said with a frown, "I do not think Perenelle partook in an actual sword fight for a long, _long_ time. Nonetheless, I believe – at the risk of sounding immodest – that I would, perhaps, have been able to defeat Nicolas with ease in a duel. He was far more interested in the wandless arts than he ever was in the use of an actual wand."

"But he _did_ protect the Philosopher's Stone for so long, even by your own account," Alastor pointed out.

"And he always relied on the network of friends he never failed to build from the talented pool of wizards who were naturally drawn to his prodigious knowledge of the wandless arts for the same," Albus said, "Before he consented to my use of the Stone, it was kept at _Gringotts_. Granted, Gringotts is famed for its security, but if Nicolas were the godlike figure you have all made him out to be, I do not believe he would ever resort to a bank for safekeeping.

"Which is not, of course, to say that _any_ wizard or witch could vanquish him. He was a powerful wizard in his own right, and it _must_ have taken a magical of extraordinary calibre to break through his wards – an art Nicolas was _very_ fond of – and overpower him. Nonetheless, I do not believe we can rule out complacency on part of the Flamels – understandable complacency for beings that are over six centuries old, but unfortunate, considering where their blasé attitude led them."

"So… if a witch like Bellatrix _is_ out there," Arthur said mildly, "Does it necessarily mean He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is alive and well?"

"We're getting ahead of ourselves," Remus pointed out, "Perhaps the attack on the Flamels was entirely the work of Bellatrix Lestrange – perhaps she was trying to procure their Stone to revive the Dark Lord."

"Look," Sirius argued, "I get that Bellatrix was a great talent with the sword, and I get that she's insanely talented in general, with emphasis on _insane_ , but she's no ward-breaker."

"Alastor said Bellatrix had an accomplice," Remus replied, "Maybe this accomplice is a talented ward-breaker?"

"Wait," Dedalus Diggle said tremulously, "Are we already assuming that Alastor's observations are correct? That Bellatrix Lestrange is alive?"

Albus leaned forward in his chair, silencing everyone in the room with a single gesture. "We can deliberate on the various possibilities that follow from this news later," he said, "For now, all we _know_ to be true is this: Alastor was attacked by a woman who resembled the allegedly late Bellatrix Lestrange around July, and the woman appeared to be working with a male accomplice. Second, in an incident that _may_ be separate, or that may be related, the Flamels were discovered to have been murdered in their homes. Third, the Flamels, at the time of their death, appeared too young to have fulfilled their promise of destroying the Philosopher's Stone three years ago.

"Either way," Albus continued, "I called this meeting not only to inform you of _present_ happenings, but also to tell you a story – a very, _very_ important story – parts of which may already be known to you, and other parts entirely unknown, even to those of you that fancy yourselves in the _know_."

The occupants of the room sat back in their chair, highly interested in what Albus had to say. Lily raised an eyebrow at the Headmaster – she wondered if he were about to elaborate on a very particular incident that was very relevant to her. As it turned out, she happened to be right.

"As many of you have heard of it, this story starts and ends with the infamous attack on Godric's Hollow," Albus said, and every head in the room turned to give Lily a brief glance, even as she shifted in her chair uncomfortably. Albus continued, "But in truth, the story begins with the _reason_ the Dark Lord went after Harry Potter: a prophecy, which I no longer wish to keep secret, lest it perish with me, leaving you all with nothing to go on.

"Before any of you take offence at the idea that I have kept a crucial secret from you all for so long, know I had not even told the Potters the text of this prophecy; and I deeply admire, and regret, the idea that the Potters stood against a vast and evil power without knowing _why_ they, specifically, were targeted so intently and vehemently."

Here, Albus gave Lily an apologetic glance and said, "I can only hope that you, Lily, more than most, are willing to forgive me for this breach of trust – but I believed it best, in those dark days, that the fewer that knew of the contents of this prophecy, the better. And I still _do_ believe that, but to a lesser degree."

Lily _wanted_ to smile at Albus. She _wanted_ to say, "It's okay, Albus… we all trusted you." But she couldn't bring herself to say it – so much had been lost, though none of the loss could be attributed to Albus' secrecy. She _knew_ there had been a prophecy and she _knew_ that Albus had wanted to keep the prophecy a secret as long as possible. She had not minded it then, and she had no reason to mind it now.

But _dismissing_ the idea that James had gone to his death, not even knowing _why_ he had to sacrifice himself, by way of a blasé forgiveness was beyond her at the moment. Albus, however, seemed to understand.

"Nonetheless, I suppose Lily might have guessed some of the content of this prophecy, and she may have assumed, as some of you undoubtedly have this instant, that it involves Harry Potter and the Dark Lord.

"Ah, if only the prophecy were so simple, if only it posed little Harry Potter as the sole threat to the Dark Lord, the world may have been a simpler place and Lily would have known the reason – the _real_ reason – her family was torn apart so cruelly fourteen years ago. Nonetheless, circumstances force my hand now – I thought myself invincible then, and in the middle of a war thought myself capable of shouldering the burden the prophecy bestowed upon me, but now… in the midst of peace, ironically, I have come to realize that I am more fallible than most.

"And I presume the followers of the Dark Lord – at least a select few – already know of what the prophecy entails; if they did not before, they _may_ now. So, again, after extracting an Unbreakable Vow from each of you, my trusted allies, to this effect – that you shall not divulge this information to _any_ apart from ourselves – I shall tell you of this prophecy."

Albus then asked each member to come forward to his desk in turn and extracted an Unbreakable Vow from all - that they shall not divulge any details regarding the prophecy to those outside the room, with McGonagall binding each vow. Eventually, after Lily had performed the vow, he sat down and continued, "An Unbreakable Vow is all well and good, but there are ways to circumvent even this powerful magic. So I urge you all to be doubly cautious, even when _remembering_ the details of this meeting, lest you be found out.

"We come now, to the crux of this meeting. The prophecy itself goes thus:

" _He who may atone approaches,_

 _Born to those that have thrice defied the darkness,_

 _Born as evil reaches its fiery zenith, high above us all_

 _Darkness shall embrace him, as shall light,_

 _His choices shall mark us all,_

 _Bringing forth doom and delight."_

Lily's breath seemed to freeze in her chest as she finally heard the words she had wanted to hear fourteen _years_ ago, and so abrupt was the revelation she had waited for so long that she had no time to reflect or react before the text of the prophecy was unveiled by Dumbledore.

And now that she had finally heard the prophecy that was so relevant to her, the words seemed so… _strange_. Too grandiose, too bland, too rambling. Memories flashed in her mind – a crumbling cottage, a fervent prayer, the sound of silence, broken by a cold, high voice and the sight of a traitor, who was once her friend.

"Sounds like a bunch of riddles to me, Albus," Alastor said with a frown, "Not that I don't _believe_ in Divination, but are you sure those words are right?"

"I heard them uttered myself by the seer in question," Albus replied calmly, "But I know what you mean, Alastor. For I have long pondered the meaning of those words myself – such a pithy little prophecy it is, but with startling implications. For the prophecy talks of _atonement_ and the one who may _atone_. But for what? I do not know.

"It talks of evil reaching its zenith, 'high above us all.' Does that imply a victory for evil? Does that mean our resistance, so to speak, is futile? I do not know. It tells us of this hero and how his choices shall mark us all, but apparently, either choice shall bring forth _both_ doom _and_ delight. How can this be? I do not know.

"But, lest we all be tempted dismiss its text simply because we do not understand it fully, we should all be aware of _one_ particular fact – Lord Voldemort thought this prophecy was sufficient reason to attack the Potters. Lord Voldemort found _something_ about the text both startling and threatening at once, and that _something_ prompted him to bring about his own premature doom. And I believe that whatever he saw, whatever meaning he unearthed about these words, _still_ drives him, to this day, stirring him to action, for some reason or another."

"So _both_ you and You-Know-Who heard this prophecy?" Hestia asked, "How did _that_ ever happen?"

"An… unwitting third party came to overhear the entirety of this prophecy as it was recited to me – by whom and where, I shall not say, so I beg you all not to ask, for _some_ information I wish to keep to myself, especially at this delicate stage – and this third party communicated all of that unearned information to Voldemort. The rest, as they say, is history."

The traitor. His turn from the light, and then an apparent about-turn. It had mystified her then, but the pieces fell into place in Lily's mind. "Severus," she snarled, "Severus _Snape_ overheard this prophecy." Both Remus and Sirius gaped at her, their faces tensing and reddening in rage.

Albus raised his eyebrows in surprise. "That… is an incredibly shrewd deduction and I am extremely impressed, if a bit embarrassed, by it," he said, "But as much as he might deserve disdain in your eyes, know also he was capable of understanding, and executing, reparations for his misdeeds. As soon as he found out that his information had caused the Dark Lord to target _you_ , Lily, he came to me at once and begged forgiveness, no doubt hoping to do all that he could to save you."

She knew that only too well. She remembered his last words to her with a great degree of pain and contempt.

" _Lily! James is dead! I am your only salvation!"_

Lily saw Sirius clench his fist, shocked into anger by Lily's observation and Albus' subsequent confirmation. Even Remus appeared to be flushing in rage at the idea that their old schoolyard nemesis had been responsible for their best friend's death.

"But I do not wish to stoke old fires, nor poke at old scars," Albus said quickly, "Whatever I admit now, I admit in the interest of full disclosure, rather than to incite rage at a man long dead and buried.

"Now, I do not wish to detain you all any longer. I realize that I have imparted a great deal of information to all of you, and that any discussion we may hold now shall be marred by hotheadedness and the rawness of all that I have conveyed so far, so I entreat you all to return to your previous engagements, or perhaps indulge yourselves in _new_ engagements, such as the party here at Hogwarts, which all of you are warmly welcome to attend.

"And, I hope that you shall all attend the next meeting with calmer countenances, having digested all of the information I have told you of, and enabling us to achieve more than what realizations the sum of our parts could now hope to discover.

"With that, I conclude the first meeting of the newly reformed Order of the Phoenix and thank you all for participating in it with such zeal."


	16. Interlude: Death of a Veela

Interlude: Death of a Veela

 _Three years ago_

Some moments in life are absolutely horrible to experience, to sit through, but given the healing attributes of time and love, those same moments that were once painful soon become wholesome and worthy of fond, if bittersweet, remembrance.

For a fourteen-year-old Fleur Delacour, these were just such moments.

Her grandmother lay before her, each breath the old veela strove to take escaping her in short bursts, pale and trembling, on that precarious edge between life and death.

"So beautiful," her grandmother whispered, a pale hand caressing Fleur's cheek, supported by the granddaughter's palm, "So, _so_ gorgeous. Fleur… such a handsome girl."

Fleur smiled at her grandmother with some effort. " _Mamie_ ," she whispered, "I… will miss you."

Her grandmother stared in the direction of her voice, old eyes failing in the dim light of the room.

"You are beautiful," her grandmother repeated softly, and said, "You have all the blessings of a veela – formidable beauty, gorgeous hair, and that… _allure_ – but are not afflicted with the _curse_ that accompanies such a state of being. You are gifted with _will_ over the decadence that comes from falling prey to instinct."

Fleur merely clutched her grandmother's palm to her face, feeling the old veela's pulse ebb, bit by bit.

"Remember," her grandmother said, "I want you to… remember… that you are more human than veela, but you _do_ have our blood in you. _My_ blood."

"I do," Fleur agreed softly.

"And that blood… I dread the idea that it may compel you to _fall_ , Fleur," her grandmother whispered, "Like _I_ did. Like… like my daughter did."

Fleur stiffened.

"Where… where is Apolline?" her grandmother asked.

"She is upstairs," Fleur whispered reluctantly.

"With her husband?" her grandmother asked.

Fleur looked away, and her grandmother's hand dropped softly by her side. Fleur _wanted_ to lie to her grandmother, _wanted_ to claim that her mother was indeed with her father… but she could not bring herself to lie to her _Mamie_. Not now. Especially not now.

"No," Fleur replied gently.

Her grandmother sighed. "I see," she breathed. Her eyes focused for a moment and she said, her voice breaking with every third word, "I am sorry… Fleur. I am so… sorry."

"Don't," Fleur said, "Do not apologize for _her_."

"She _is_ my daughter," her grandmother said, "And what she does, even if it is of her own free will, reflects on me, and poorly more often than not. Perhaps, if I had not fallen for a temperamental wizard like your grandfather, perhaps… if he had not left me for another, perhaps… if Apolline had grown up with an upstanding man for a father as opposed to an _attractive_ , but absent, father figure… maybe…"

"Don't," Fleur said sternly, "Do not do this. Do not go to… do not go… with regrets."

"But I have so many," her grandmother responded in a calm tone, "Too many for me to let go of, even now.

"But you…" her grandmother continued, pointing a trembling finger at her, "You are _different_. Still temperamental… but tempered by circumstance. So beautiful, but not… arrogant. Forbidding… but not blind. You will do what your mother and I did not – you _will_ learn to stand on your own two feet. You will, won't you?"

"I promise," Fleur said firmly, her palm seeking out her grandmother's hand by itself.

"Good," her grandmother said, "That is… good."

Her grandmother drew a shuddering breath, and continued, "But… but if you _do_ decide to find… find a man, do not try to deny your veela nature."

" _Maman_ did," she said stiffly, "She denied it, or so she claims."

"And… I did not," her grandmother said, "But both of us were wrong in our own ways. I fell prey to the age-old instinct veela have – to ensnare a man of _power_ , blind to all _other_ attributes that make him desirable, or otherwise – only to lose him in time. Your mother, perhaps rebelling against me, sought to exploit her human nature and marry a man for what _she_ thought was practicality… but what, in reality, was avarice. Greed. She married a man for money and influence… and now… now she is upstairs in her bedroom, enjoying the company of _others_ while her own husband enjoys himself elsewhere."

Fleur tried to exert her self-control, but a sob escaped her nonetheless.

"… And in the process, she lost sight of her passions, her _nature_ … even her own two daughters," her grandmother continued, her voice as soothing as it could be through her ordeal, "And now, she tries to seek passion elsewhere.

"But… but you must not follow either of our paths, Fleur. Do not _deny_ your passions release, but do not let them be unchained entirely either. _Use_ your humanity to seek out a _good_ man, a _wise_ man, a _moral_ man… and then, if _our_ blood permits it… _never_ let him go. Ever.

"Seize him, for there are very few men who are capable of impressing themselves on both your halves – the human, and the veela."

Fleur smiled despite herself. "I _promise_ ," she said, giving her grandmother's right hand a gentle squeeze.

"You're a good girl, Fleur," her grandmother said, her voice faltering, "A… good… girl…"

" _Mamie_ ," Fleur said tremulously, hoping her grip was strong enough to _make_ her grandmother hold on, to persist, but it was all in vain.

"Apolline?" her grandmother asked in a weak voice, her palm twitching in Fleur's grip, "Apolline, dear child, is that you?"

" _Mamie_ ," Fleur choked, "It's Fleur… Fleur, your granddaughter."

"Apolline," her grandmother cried with unseeing eyes, "Apolline! I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry! But it was not my fault… not my fault… Apolline, please, _please_ …"

" _Mamie_ ," Fleur sobbed again, her voice breaking and her hand trembling, but she found herself unable to continue.

"Forgive me, Apolline," her grandmother whispered, and drew her last breath. A sharp, shrill cry burst out of Fleur – her agony given voice at last – and she let go of her grandmother's hand as it began to change and deform, _peeling_ away.

Fleur stepped back a pace, wiping tears that were streaming profusely from her eyes, but she did not fail to notice the soft glow of the blue flames that caressed her grandmother's body. Each part, each portion the flame _touched_ changed texture – skin turned the colour of bark, hair turned to leaf, and her grandmother, like all true veela, _reverted_ to the spirits of old, a wood nymph, returning to eternal sleep.

Fleur folded her hands and hugged herself trying to suppress the well of sorrow that burst within her, looking at her grandmother's body, forged anew - a tree spirit, now departed, with skin ensconced forever in wood, and autumn leaves entwined in lieu of hair.

And out of the corner of her eye, she saw a new presence leaning against the frame of the door that led into the guest chambers of Delacour Manor. She turned slightly, to behold her mother, staring at the wooden _tomb_.

"Is she…?" her mother asked, her voice conveying no emotion.

"Yes," Fleur breathed, "She is… _gone_."

"I see," her mother said. She stared at the tomb for a while more and said, harshly, "Tell one of the elves to clean that up. Remove the tomb from the guest bedroom – your father will not like her to… lie here like this."

Fleur glared at her mother, both incredulous and angry at once. "She was your _mother_!" she cried.

"She was," her mother agreed with a nod, "And nothing more."

Fleur sobbed again as her mother turned on her heel and left, but she was consoled ever so slightly by the last sight she would remember from her grandmother's death – the sight of a lone tear trickling down her mother's face as she turned harshly away from a beautiful veela tomb.


	17. The Yule Ball, Part II

**The Yule Ball, Part II: Playing with Fire**

The tranquil surface of the lake blanketed itself across a vast expanse before Harry, so different from the turbulent underpinnings of his own mind at the moment.

The familiar, empty feeling in his stomach seemed to be back with a vengeance and he felt as if he would rather lose the First Task all over again. And the idea that he could feel so deeply, that the loss of Narcissa could cut him so deep, seemed too horrible for him to ever want to experience… whatever it was with Narcissa… again.

He was _hurt_.

He drew a wobbly breath and skimmed another pebble across the surface of the lake, watching it bounce over the placid waters, creating tiny ripples once it finally plopped into the lake.

"Oh," said a woman's voice from behind him, "I… I did not mean…"

Harry turned around and grimaced as he saw Fleur. He nodded at her and turned away as quickly as he could – he had no wish to be subjected to _more_ ridicule. However, to his chagrin, and surprise, Fleur sat down right next to him, drawing up her knees to her chest and resting her chin on them as she stared morosely across the surface of the lake.

"Are you as bad as ze… magazine… claims you are?" she asked him tentatively.

Harry resisted the urge to palm his face. "I'd say I'm not," he said, "But would you even believe me?"

Fleur turned to stare at him for a moment, before she blinked and turned away. "I don't _want_ you to be as bad as zat," she replied.

Harry had no idea what _that_ meant.

"Er… is Davies coming here?" he asked, ready to get onto his feet and sprint away if that was the case.

Fleur glared at him. " _Non_ ," she said firmly, "Davies is _not_ coming here."

Harry shrugged. "Bad date?" he asked.

"Oui," Fleur replied tersely.

They both stared ahead for a moment, drinking in the sight of the distant forest, seemingly perched along the far edge of the lake.

"Why is your Head Boy such a… such a… _cochon_?" Fleur exploded, "'e is _stupid_. A dunderhead. Your _school_ is stupid. Full of dunderheads."

Harry had to grin wryly at Fleur floundering about for the right English insults to satisfactorily express her disdain of everything to do with her erstwhile date.

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said laconically. He winced as Fleur proceeded to glare at him and tried, "You must know, though, that your… er… allure… is a bit… distracting."

Fleur's glare softened. "I know," she sighed, "It is _frustrating_."

Another silence followed, whence Harry tried to _will_ Fleur away, but she seemed to be in the mood for conversation.

"Why are you here?" she asked, "Instead of at the Ball, dancing with ze girls?"

Harry stared at her and Fleur seemed to get the idea. "Zere are no girls after zat article, are zere?" she asked.

"Not entirely," Harry said, "But the sort of girls who'd be attracted _to_ me because of that article…"

"Aren't ze sort of girls you would want to dance with," Fleur completed. She glanced at him with a smile and said, "I approve."

"Thank you," Harry replied, though his heart wasn't in it.

"But," Fleur persisted, "You appear to be more sad zan happy to escape zat crowd."

Harry couldn't quite take much more of this… nosiness. He got up abruptly and said, "I'm taking a walk, Fleur."

To his dismay, she stood up alongside him. "Very well," she said, "As zey say here – _lead on_."

"Er… are you really in the mood for… my company?" he asked.

Fleur flushed. "I feel guilty for ignoring you at dinner," she said, "And you have never failed to be nice to me. It was, not nice… what I did. Ze least I can do is give you company on what appears to be a sorry night for us all.

"Besides," she sniffed, "I am bored, and you are ze host, Englishman. Entertain me."

Harry gaped at her. Was he hallucinating, or was Fleur actually displaying a sense of humour?

"You seem to be in good spirits," he said, mimicking her earlier nosy enquiries, "Despite the fact that your date abandoned you."

Fleur looked mildly indignant. " _I_ abandoned _him_ ," she said imperiously and he _had_ to smile at that, "And I am… relieved to escape his presence.

"Besides," she said, resorting to her usual turn of phrase, "Zere are not enough people I know in zis place."

"You're _lonely_ ," Harry blurted, his thoughts forming words on his tongue, and immediately chastised himself for being so blunt. Fleur did not appear to have registered what he said, but her eyes gave her away – Harry _knew_ how difficult it could be to spend time in a strange place with no friends at all, as Fleur had done. Granted, her Beaxubatons gang of friends came to visit her on weekends, but he had noticed how the foreign presence at Hogwarts had thinned over time. And Fleur, unlike Krum – who was tutored privately in the Durmstrang ship by visiting professors – had to attend classes at Hogwarts, among strangers in a language she was not quite at home with.

And he supposed that tonight, like himself, perhaps Fleur had found her own friends having too much fun at the Ball to impose herself on them. And so, she had sought out the first familiar, relatively free-looking face she had stumbled on. In _that_ light, Fleur's company _was_ acceptable, he supposed. Besides, it would probably be good for him to take his mind off his… other troubles, by engaging in conversation with his attractive companion.

"Oh," Harry said, having a sudden epiphany, "I forgot to say this to you earlier – congratulations on completing the first task."

Fleur shuddered instinctively. She looked at him for a moment, wondering if he was patronizing her, but she desisted from glaring when she realized that he was being sincere. She inclined her head gracefully, her golden hair practically _lustrous_ in the moonlight, and said in a hesitant voice, "I was foolish. And my victory was an accident. I should never 'ave won."

"You did better than I did," Harry said in a self-deprecating tone, "I got my lights punched out by a giant stone fist."

Fleur giggled despite herself. "You have a way of dealing with… difficulty, Harry Potter," she said, "Zat I admire. Comedy. It is refreshing. Men usually use comedy with me to impress."

"Maybe because I'm _not_ trying to impress you?" Harry said, "That is, unless you believe Skeeter's line – in _that_ case, maybe I _am_ trying to seduce you by the sheer breadth of my loss in the First Task."

Immediately after he had uttered those words, he wondered if he had said too much, even if he was being sarcastic – he supposed that Fleur may not be familiar enough with the nuances of English humour to get his drift. However, he relaxed when Fleur laughed.

"Oui," she said, "But I have no choice but to… what waz it she said…? Ah, oui, I have no choice but to listen to your rambling flirtations, for courtesy's sake, if for nothing else. Such a charming line."

Harry laughed, but Fleur changed topics abruptly. "Ze first task…" she began, "We all, I think… we all just… froze. At least _I_ did. I have never faced anything like zat before – what can you do to an enchanted stone road, I ask?"

"Beats me," Harry said, "But Krum seemed to land on a great strategy – just blast them apart faster than the road can make them."

Fleur nodded. "Viktor did have a good… strategy," she agreed and then pointed out, "But 'e did get magically tired."

"Yeah, magical exhaustion," Harry muttered, his traitorous mind showing him an image of Narcissa during their last duel, slumped against the wall in so vulnerable a manner, and another pang shot through his stomach.

"Where are we going?" Fleur asked curiously.

Harry started and looked around him, only to notice that his feet were taking him beyond the castle gates, right to… the horseless carriages, which, to his surprise, were actually present outside the castle walls.

"These aren't supposed to be here," Harry said, more to himself than to Fleur, and staring at the carriages, "But I guess it makes sense… the guests were probably ferried on these."

He looked at Fleur, wondering how far she would accompany him – a relative stranger. "I'm… going to take this carriage," he said.

Fleur nodded, surprising him once more with her need for company on this occasion. He held out a hand to her, assisting her into a carriage, and then got in after her.

"Hermione!" Luna yelled over the music.

"What?!" Hermione yelled back to the girl dancing next to her.

"I like your boobs when they bounce!" Luna shouted.

Hermione could not help but blush. Luna was… disturbingly frank – and Hermione _knew_ it would have been infuriating if Luna were a normal girl, but her open, sincere and affectionate tone really made up for her naïve brashness.

"Luna," Hermione chastised, "That's _not_ something you say in public!"

And then she flinched inwardly as she realized what she had said. To her surprise though, Lune did _not_ seize upon the "Then let's do this in _private_ " repartee. Instead, the blonde Ravenclaw replied, "Sorry! I will not say it again!"

Hermione rubbed at her neck as the music slowed to a crawl and eventually petered out. She leaned in to Luna and whispered, "Luna, do you… er… want to accompany me on a walk?"

Luna smiled. "I'd love to, Hermione Granger," she said.

Hermione smiled back and then wondered what the hell she was doing as she walked outside the hall, Luna's palm clenched in her own inconspicuously.

"My favourite subject by far," Fleur said happily, as the carriage made its way towards the station in Hogsmeade, "Is Charms. I _love_ zat subject. It is so… interesting."

"Worst subject?" Harry asked.

"Defence," Fleur said and pouted as he laughed, "Just because my worst subject is _your_ favourite subject, Monsieur, does _not_ give you ze right to laugh at me."

"You started this game of questions," Harry said, "The best ice-breaker and all that."

Fleur continued to pout. So Harry tried to continue their game, only to feel disappointed at the direction his mind took in order to craft a new question to ask Fleur.

"But isn't Defence taught by the great and powerful Monsieur Chevalier?" Harry asked, his mood souring immediately.

" _Ugh_ ," Fleur said in disgust, "Monsieur Chevalier is never _in_ class, and when he is, he is never on time and always dismisses us before ze right time. He is more concerned with his book signings and his star appearances."

"Guest appearances?" Harry ventured.

"Oui, oui," Fleur said, "Where people are invited to special events like ze opening of a new shop. Chevalier is invited to many of zose."

Harry knew it was petty of him, but he could not help but feel marginally better at the knowledge that Pierre Chevalier was not, at the very least, as perfect as those around him thought him to be.

"He is a great hit with ze female population of Beauxbatons," Fleur continued, making Harry's mood dip again, "I 'ad a crush on him for ze longest time."

"And you still do?" Harry asked sourly.

Fleur tilted her head at him curiously and said, "Non. I think myself beyond such… foolish feelings now. He… he is not what I would call a _good_ man."

"Of course," Harry said, wishing _he_ had that degree of self-control so that his summer had never happened.

The carriage came to a gentle halt and Harry hopped off immediately. After assisting Fleur out of the carriage, he looked around curiously, wondering if any shops at Hogsmeade would be open this late, only to be disappointed at the sight of shutters all over the place.

"So we came all zis way to stare at a dirty, sleepy village?" Fleur asked, though her voice was light.

Harry wondered what on earth had prompted him to take a carriage out of the castle, when he was struck by an epiphany – the _real_ reason his feet had taken him here, the _real_ reason he had come all the way here… was to reflect on the gift he had prepared to make reparations to _Narcissa_.

He shuddered as his chest filled with that familiar ache again, and turned to Fleur to distract himself. "Not quite," he said in reply to her question, "We came here to… well, _I_ came here to sail the lake."

Fleur stared at him as if he wasn't quite right in the head. "Sail?" she asked slowly, "Ze _lake_? I hope you are not going to persuade ze grotesque beast zat lives in ze lake to carry us?"

Harry noticed how she had used the pronoun ' _us_ '.

"No," he said, "We Englishmen may be a savage people, but we _do_ have boats."

"Horrid leetle boats, I am sure," Fleur said airily and then smiled as Harry chuckled.

They made their way on foot along a narrow path that diverged from the broader road their carriage had just ridden on, and eventually came across a small brook that Harry had not seen since his first year. A boat lay moored on the bank of the brook, its rope drawing taut every now and then in rhythm with eddies that occasionally churned the waters underneath.

"Or maybe not so horrid," Fleur breathed, as she beheld the white boat, its bow sculpted so that it resembled the wings of a swan, petering out into a long, graceful neck that rose firm and proud. The rest of its length was engraved with elaborate patterns – flowers in particular, with roses, hibiscus and orchids that appeared to be sculpted in marble.

Harry smiled ruefully at the thought of _who_ he would have been showing this boat to tonight had everything gone as planned. Fleur gazed at him, amazed, and asked, "Where… where did you… whose boat is zis?"

"Technically, it's the school's," Harry said, his mood still a bit low as he walked up to the boat and cast a spell at the rope so that it came undone. He then planted his right foot on the boat and held out a hand to Fleur.

"Your school owns boats?" Fleur asked, as she took his hand and stepped onto the vessel, which swayed ever so gently, "Like zis one?"

"Yes," Harry said, "But not _quite_ like this. This one is modified."

"Oh," Fleur said, as she looked over the stern of the ship, running her fingers in admiration across the sculpted rose on its end, gleaming white in the pale light of the moon and a stark contrast against the dark waters of the brook, "It eez… _beautiful_. I do not know ze right English words to express my admiration of its craftsmanship."

Harry pushed off the bank with his left foot, and immediately jumped onto the boat, shaking it slightly in the process, but the sturdy little vessel soon became steady. He then pointed his wand at the bow and gave it a little push with his magic, pulling the boat away from the bank and in line with the current. The boat rushed along with the flow of the brook, its prow gliding gracefully along the stream, and a hundred stars seemed to glimmer into existence around them as fireflies began to make themselves known along the banks.

Fleur hung onto the edge, not quite managing to hide her delighted expression and she squealed in joy as the boat rushed down a particularly fast current, and then turned in an entirely different direction along a bend to reveal…

" _Mon dieu_!" Fleur gasped as she beheld the majesty of the castle that towered above the two of them, "Zis… zis is… Hogwarts?"

Harry grinned. No matter how apprehensive a person was at the thought of life at Hogwarts, this first sighting, this very first glimpse of the castle grounds, had the ability to draw a pleasant exclamation from even the most cynical being capable of conscious thought.

"Of course it is," Harry said fondly, gazing up at the massive walls and towering spires that superimposed themselves so powerfully against the night sky, "Welcome, _again_ , to Hogwarts."

Fleur fixed him with an inscrutable glance for a moment as she joined him at the bow and looked up with awe at the grand old towers. The boat pushed its way across the lake by virtue of the charms it had been imbued with, to a little island that was ornamented with a large oak tree where the edge of the lake curved inwards to form a large embankment.

Sirius exhaled as he looked distractedly across from the top of the Astronomy Tower. Remus leaned on the parapet beside him.

"Not quite a place I remember very fondly," Remus said, "But I suppose this place is dear enough to you to compensate for my lack of attachment."

Sirius appeared not to have heard him, and exhaled again, his breath escaping him in a burst.

"Severus," Sirius snarled, "It was _Snivellous_ all along."

"Sirius," Remus warned, "We suspected that he had something to do with this all along. They found his body right alongside James'."

" _Bastard_ ," Sirius said, "Albus had me half-convinced the man was trying to _save_ Lily."

"Maybe he was," Remus observed, "Maybe he really _was_ there to save Lily."

"Only Lily," Sirius grit out, "Not the Potters. Not James. _Bastard_."

"Sirius," Remus tried again, "This won't do you any good. Severus is _dead_."

"But he died a HERO!" Sirius roared, turning suddenly to face Remus, "He died a HERO, on the side of the great and powerful Albus Dumbledore! There was a bloody _funeral_ for his sake, while I rotted away in _prison_! When he… when _he_ was the one that _put_ Voldemort on _their_ trail, when he was the one responsible for James'… for James'…"

Sirius trailed off and leaned across the edge of the tower again, his voice choked with emotion.

Remus sighed. "I'm not sure I feel about it the same way you do," he said, "I don't think I have ever felt more guilty in my life… and I have a _lot_ of guilt to go around."

"Guilty?" Sirius asked incredulously.

"I can't help but think it's our fault. Mine, yours, even… James'. He was _our_ schoolyard rival, _our_ nemesis, and at the end of the day…"

"Don't you _dare_ say he _won_ ," Sirius said, his voice quivering with rage.

"Not quite," Remus said, "But I can't help but feel responsible, in part, for the destruction that Severus wrought."

"We are _not_ responsible," Sirius said firmly, " _He_ is responsible for his own plight. He did _not_ have to let his circumstances dictate his alliances, but he did."

Remus smiled at that. "Perhaps you give him too much credit," he said, "Not everyone is strong enough to resist their environment, Padfoot."

"But they _can_ be," Sirius said darkly, though his eyes seemed lost in memories of older times. Times of rebellion, of abandonment, of striving against his own family.

Then, both he and Remus leaned over the railing on the Astronomy tower, though only Remus was clear-headed enough to take in the familiar sight of the castle grounds – the thick foliage of the Forbidden Forest a dark expanse in the distance and hills towering over the surface of the lake beneath them. Remus noted the lights spilling out from the castle windows, and the distant glow of Hogsmeade. And then he noticed a lone white boat swim gracefully across the surface of the lake underneath them.

Remus did a double take as he peered at the boat, then grinned.

"Sirius," he said lightly, and pointed at the lake, "Do you still have your omnioculars?"

Sirius stared at him, his face still bearing traces of his rage. "What?" he asked, "Why?"

"Because there's something I think you should see," Remus said, "And if I'm right, I think it'll cheer you up too."

Sirius scoffed, pulled his personal omnioculars out from his satchel and peered through them at the boat Remus had helpfully pointed out to him.

And Sirius abruptly pulled them away. He gaped at Remus for a moment, then looked through them again.

"Well, well, _well_ ," Sirius said, his face breaking out into a grin in spite of himself, "Harry, Harry, _Harry_."

"Indeed," Remus said, laughing.

"The boy learnt from the best," Sirius said, still grinning and looking through the omnioculars, "Obviously, he takes after his godfather."

"You'd like to believe that, wouldn't you?" Remus asked sceptically.

Sirius spluttered, still not taking his eyes away from the omnioculars. "Of course he does," he said, "After all, his _father_ never scored with an older, totally hot, French _veela_."

"And you did?" Remus asked.

"Details," Sirius said, "Details, my dear Moony. Now maybe you should stop perving on your best friend's son and join the party like other decent folk, hmm?"

As Sirius pocketed his omnioculars with a smile on his face and proceeded down the staircase that led to the Great Hall, Remus had to keep himself from pointing out that it was not _he_ who had been ' _perving_.' But he managed to resist, with great difficulty, and followed Sirius down to join the rest of the crowd at the Hogwarts Yule Ball.

Fleur tasted the pastry and exclaimed, "Zis is… _delicious_!"

Harry gaped at the girl; he hadn't quite pegged her for a chocolate connoisseur.

"Thank you?" he said tentatively.

"Did your castle elves prepare zis?" she asked curiously, biting into the brownie again.

"They helped," he said with a shrug of his shoulders.

"Helped?" Fleur asked, raising her eyebrows and took another dainty bite.

"I… er… made it," Harry said, his face warming over, "Home-made chocolate, best-served hot, and all that. In the school kitchens, and the elves were very eager to help."

"Oh," Fleur said, staring at the item in her hand. She shrugged and then took another bite.

"So…" Harry said, wondering if the picnic basket he had prepared would last less longer than he had presumed – in hindsight, making all these preparations seemed like such an utterly foolish and naively romantic thing to do; he could not help but feel embarrassed.

Either way, at the very least, he was having _some_ fun with his present companion.

"I was about to tell you about my first broom ride," Fleur said happily, "When I got distracted by zis _heavenly_ taste."

"Right," Harry said. His mother was right – once Fleur got going, she _really_ got going. Conversation with her, once she warmed to him, was no longer the slow trickle of words it had been before, and had seemed to have become a rich, flowing torrent of anecdotes and life experiences.

"So," she said, " _Maman_ did not want to buy me a broom… she never really did think too highly of my abilities, but _Papa_ had an old broom lying about. One day, when he was on one of his long, boring political trips, I just took ze broom and flew it all around our mansion grounds. _Maman_ was very surprised when she found out, but zere were too many of her friends zere for her to show how angry she was. She was having one of her pussy parties."

Harry snorted. "Lucky break for you," he said, "And… er… I think you mean kitty parties."

"Oui, oui," Fleur said dismissively, "Kitty parties."

Then she leaned forward eagerly. "So," she asked, "When did you first fly on a broom?"

"In our first flying class at school," Harry said. He abruptly asked Fleur, "When did you buy that Firebolt?"

"Oh, Papa received it as a gift, from some… I do not know what you call zose people who pay for campaigns…" Fleur said.

"Lobbyists?" Harry asked.

"Maybe," Fleur said, nodding her assent, "So Papa received zis brand new Firebolt, and zen he just threw it in his attic. I… borrowed it for a while."

"That's very courageous of you," Harry said with a smile, "Has he found out about this loan of his so far?"

" _Non_ ," Fleur said playfully, "And I don't think he would care. All _he_ cares about is his politics."

Fleur finished her brownie and reached into his little basket for more, but there was nothing there and she pouted adorably.

"Zey are over," she said in a sad voice.

Harry felt amused. "I can make more of those, y'know," he said, laughing, "So stop pouting."

Fleur grinned immediately.

"Ha!" Harry said, "It's almost like you're seven instead of seventeen."

"Pah," Fleur retorted, "I will have you know zat I'm seven only when it comes to chocolate."

"Aren't we all," Harry said, still grinning at her.

Fleur took the little basket into her hands and turned it upside down, as if hoping something would fall out. Naturally, since they had cleaned it out so thoroughly, it was entirely empty and no miraculous foodstuff fell out.

Fleur grimaced, put the basket down, turned to him and said, "Before we started talking about brooms, you said something about duelling…"

"Oh," Harry said, "Yes, it's just that I've heard a lot about your interest in Charms. So I was wondering if you've ever attempted to use them in a duel."

"Why would I _want_ to duel?" Fleur asked, completely confused.

"You've never… er… duelled before?" Harry asked.

"I study at Beauxbatons," Fleur said, exasperated, "Maybe you are mistaking me for a Durmstrang student?"

"Fair enough," Harry said quickly, "It's just that Charms can be very, _very_ subtle when you use them in a duel, since you can't _see_ them cast and all, and your opponent won't notice that the charm has taken hold until it actually begins to affect him."

"Oh," Fleur said, "Zat is… enlightening. But I don't see why I would have to duel. I am not… quick on my feet. You saw zat at ze First Task."

"Actually," Harry reminded her, rubbing the back of his neck, "I didn't."

"You must 'ave heard," she said.

"That I did," he acquiesced.

Fleur whipped her hair, which had begun to stream over her face because of a light wind, away in a long, lustrous swipe of silvery gold and a graceful sway of her head. She looked at him intently, her face set in a firm expression and proclaimed, "Wait until you see what I can do in ze Second Task. I cannot _wait_ for eet."

She then sidled up to the oak tree, where he was sitting with his back to its trunk, and leaned beside him, watching the giant squid shuffle their boat on two of its humongous tentacles, like a child plays with a paper boat.

"Are you not worried it will break ze boat?" she asked curiously.

Harry chuckled. "Nah," he said, "I've never known him to get violent."

"Him?" Fleur scoffed, "It may be a _she_ , you arrogant male _cochon_."

"Of course," Harry admitted, "But I may have to rethink my notion about the giant squid being non-violent if it's a _she_."

Fleur laughed. "Maybe I _like_ ze idea zat you fear women," she said, "Because I do not fear you."

"Well, it'd be strange if you accompanied me for so long only because you _fear_ my reprisal," Harry said with a grin.

"But it is a great excuse for ze Daily Prophet, _non_?" Fleur said cheekily, "I could always say you intimidated me into accompanying you if zey ever caught me with you."

"Positively devious," Harry said.

"Oui, zat I am," Fleur said in mirth. Her voice then softened as she said, "But I… do not mean it. I feel… safe here."

Harry turned his head away from the sight of the giant squid languidly raising the empty white boat into the air, perched precariously on a tentacle, and looked at Fleur curiously. However, the Frenchwoman blushed and seemed reluctant to say more – she appeared to have let slip more than she intended.

"I mean," she said, her bluster returning, "I would not be intimidated by a leetle boy like _you_."

"Oh, _that's_ how it is?" Harry asked lightly.

"I am keeding," Fleur said, slapping his arm lightly, "Don't be so serious."

Harry resisted the opportunity to crack a joke about Sirius… which reminded him of Lily, by association… which reminded him of…

"Fleur," Harry said suddenly, still looking at her, "You wouldn't happen to know an Apolline Delacour, would you?"

"Of course I do, idiot," Fleur said mildly, "She is my _muzzer_."

"Oh, right," Harry said. He was beginning to get used to Fleur's manner of speaking, with the constant insults, though he could tell by now that she meant them in jest, at least when talking to him, rather than disgust. He then said, "Well, tell your mom she has a huge fan in my mother. Huge fan of the _Dawn of Magic_."

Fleur rolled her eyes. She said in a flat tone, "Tell _your_ muzzer zat my muzzer's head is big enough as it is."

"Ouch," Harry said, wincing, "Such a great endorsement, from daughter to mother indeed."

"You haven't met _Maman_ ," Fleur said, her voice growing a tad dark.

"Fair enough," Harry placated, wishing to avoid any sensitive topics at the moment.

Fleur must have felt the same way, because she immediately switched topics. She sighed, stretched and said, "Zis tree – it is so… _grand_. Majestic. A strong and silent companion, standing alone on this island in ze middle of ze lake, until it offers shelter to others."

"Very poetic," Harry said.

"It is beautiful," Fleur breathed, looking up at the twinkling lights, glimmering in the leafy boughs of the oak, highlighting the orange hue of its last autumn leaves. Fairies had apparently snuck in, possibly wandering over from the bushes that ornamented the Hogwarts grounds, and flit between the branches often, the buzz of their wings a charming accompaniment to the swirl of the lake's waters.

"Zis place is _magical_ ," Fleur said, "It is a wonder zere aren't others here."

"It's not very well-known," Harry said. He then noticed that the faint sounds of music drifting over from the Great Hall had long since ceased.

So he gestured to the lake and said, "Anyway, I reckon it's time for us to depart. The Ball must be winding down about now."

"Do we have to?" Fleur asked, pouting playfully again, "I cannot remember having a more fun _and_ intimate night before. Does it have to end so early?"

"We've been talking to each other for two _hours_ ," Harry told her.

Fleur huffed and then got up to her feet, holding on to his outstretched hand. "Such a gentleman," she tittered. Harry shrugged.

She smoothed her robes, and pocketed the ribbons and bands she had used to hold up her elaborate hair-do – she had removed those as soon as they had alit on the little island and let her hair down; and Harry certainly wasn't complaining at the subsequent sight.

He stood at the edge of the island and whistled to the Giant Squid, which promptly and politely withdrew its tentacles, letting the boat land gently onto the lake's surface. He let Fleur board the boat first, before he jumped on and _pushed_ at the shore of the island with his wand. Their vessel skid over the sandy banks of the island and drifted onto the lake, gliding over its waters once more toward the castle walls.

Narcissa's eyes roved over the entire hall ceaselessly, trying and failing to _not_ search for Harry Potter. A storm of emotions still churned inside her – guilt, irritation, rage, frustration and insecurity – making her stew in their wake.

"Auntie Narcissa!" slurred a voice that had become very familiar that night, "Where is your date?"

"My what?" Narcissa asked a tipsy Tonks.

"Pi… Pi… whatshisname… the French stud!" Tonks yelled.

Narcissa winced and cast a wary eye on the surrounding crowd, only to spot a very interested-looking Rita Skeeter. Narcissa glared at the nosy reporter until she made an apologetic motion and quickly left the vicinity.

"He's _not_ my date, Nymphadora," Narcissa said with a sigh, "And you _don't_ have to yell. Really."

"Oh," Tonks said in a voice that was still a tad loud to Narcissa's ears, "So you're not going to…?"

Tonks made an extremely lewd gesture with her hand. Narcissa palmed her face and then glared at Tonks.

"No, Nymphadora, I'm not going to do… whatever that is," she said wearily, "I'm _married_."

"Oh," Tonks said, a spot of comprehension creeping into her eyes, "Right. _Right_. The m-word. Whoops."

Tonks stared at Narcissa for a moment, before she leaned forward and slurred, "So… you _don't_ mind if I make a play for him?"

Narcissa raised an eyebrow at the young woman and then cast a glance at where Pierre was – he was practically surrounded by admiring young girls.

"Sure," Narcissa ultimately told her niece, "Why not?"

Tonks smiled at her drunkenly. "You're alright, Auntie!" she said, clapping Narcissa on the back, much to the older woman's surprise as her glass of punch wobbled dangerously in her hand, "Even Mum thinks so!"

"I'd hate to think Andromeda hates me," Narcissa said drily.

"Mum was a bit… worried, when you said her company made you happy," Tonks said, still smiling widely at her.

"What?" Narcissa asked, completely confused.

"She said… what was it she said?" Tonks said, her brain apparently working overtime to remember her mother's words through her fog of intoxication. Then her eyes lit up.

"She said," Tonks tried again, "When you feel vun… vur… verrably?"

"Vulnerable?" Narcissa supplied, unsure where this was going.

"Right," Tonks said, "When you feel vurlable… vullable… when you feel _that_ , you tend to push away whatever makes you vullalable."

Narcissa could not keep her eyes from widening with surprise at Tonks' words, even uttered as they were in a haze of drunkenness.

"I see," she breathed.

"Because when you push _that_ away… the thing that makes you happy," Tonks finished, "You become… unhappy. Or something. And that… that makes you feel less of the v-word, but makes you feel lost too. So… what's the point of pushing it away in the first place?"

Tonks rubbed her head. "Wait. I have no idea what I just said," the drunk auror trainee informed her.

Narcissa stared at her niece and then looked frantically around the hall.

 _What had she done_?

All of the experiences she had shared with _him_ , all of the moments of happiness, of intimacy, of affection… they all came rushing back in that instant.

And that was when she made up her mind.

"Tonks," she said, her voice trembling, "Excuse me. I have to go."

"Sure, Auntie!" Tonks slurred and took a drunken step in a direction that was completely opposite to her targeted prey, "Now c'mere French whatsyourname!"

Narcissa paid no attention to Tonks. She paid no attention to the crowd that seemed to part before her. She looked at her wand and whispered, "Point me, Harry."

And her wand directed her outside the Great Hall. Narcissa rushed right through the students and guests swarming over the hall, pushed the doors open, and stepped onto the Hogwarts grounds. She _needed_ to find him. She _wanted_ to find him.

She didn't want to push him away anymore.

What she had _done_ was in the past. She knew what she was going to do.

"You do not know about ze Second Task, do you?" Fleur asked him softly, perched at the stern of the boat and skimming the fingers of her right hand along the cold surface of the lake, shivering at its cool touch.

"Nope," Harry said wryly.

She rose and walked up to his end of the boat, her hips swaying in tantalizing fashion, and raised her hand to her eyes, gazing upon the cool water coating her fingers.

"Ze Second Task," she said abruptly, turning her gaze to him, "It involves _cold_. Lots of it."

Harry gaped at her.

"Zey gave us a set of runic puzzles zat we had to solve," she continued, staring into the distance now and flushing ever-so-slightly, "I am not really a fan of runes, but with great difficulty, I solved zem. It was a leetle complex for me… but after solving… I found… ze runes, compiled, said, 'Deprived of your power, magical, you will tremble at ze wrath of Boreas, and his titans old.'"

"Boreas?" Harry asked, still wondering _why_ she was telling him all of this.

"A Greek god… of sorts..." she said hesitantly, "Ze god of winter. So I know zat ze second task shall involve cold."

"I… see," Harry said at last, staring at her, "Why… why did you tell me all of this?"

Fleur looked confused as she sat gracefully next to him. She opened her mouth to say something, but then clamped up again. A short silence followed.

"I might have lied earlier," Fleur said suddenly as she looked at the approaching bank of the lake with a fair amount of regret.

"Oh?" Harry asked curiously, wondering what on earth was going through her head at that moment.

"I… I said I felt safe because I was not scared of you," she said.

"Because I am a little boy, and all that," Harry said lightly, frowning a bit at her avoiding his earlier question.

"You're not," she said softly, "I… I have learned zat today. And I have learned it very well."

"I wasn't aware I was doing anything that qualified as adult," Harry said nonchalantly.

"But zere _is_ something about you," Fleur insisted, "Something zat makes you seem… wise beyond your years. Something zat makes you… very attractive."

"Uh huh," Harry said sceptically.

Fleur wagged a perfectly dainty index finger at him. "Do not think you have fooled me, Monsieur," she said, "I _know_ zat island is not natural."

Harry raised his eyebrows.

Fleur smirked and continued, "I may be a blonde… and blondes _do_ have more fun, but I am not _dumb_. I saw ze runes, I felt ze traces of magic… _powerful_ magic and I knew ze thrum of wards and charms around us on zat little island. And zen we have zis boat. It is heavily modified, transfigured. Ze picnic basket too."

Harry flushed.

Fleur's smirk grew more pronounced as she said, "I pity _and_ envy ze girl who would abandon _you_ , after so much effort on your part. She must be such a foolish leetle girl. A dunderhead."

Harry stared at her. "And… what makes you say this was all for a girl?"

"Well, unless I have misread you, you are not interested in boys," Fleur said cheekily.

"Ha bloody ha," Harry muttered. He then looked intently at her and asked again, "Why would you _want_ to tell me _anything_ about the Second Task?"

Fleur continued to smile at him boldly. "Maybe," she said, her voice gaining momentum as she went on, "Maybe I _like_ ze fact zat you owe me a debt now."

"Don't get me wrong," Harry said quickly, "I'm grateful, and really, _thank you_. And I _do_ owe you for that."

"Good," Fleur said softly, drawing closer to him, "Because it is a debt I plan to collect on. Soon."

Harry pondered over her words for a moment, before he registered something Fleur had said earlier. "Wait. When you spoke of this… er… hypothetical girl I apparently did all of this for… you said you felt… _envious_ …?" He trailed off.

Fleur glanced at him, just as he looked uncertainly at her. He suddenly realized she was sitting _right_ next to him, the alluring _heat_ radiating from her slim figure making itself known at once, and her pouty red lips only inches away from his own.

"Oui," she whispered, her face flushing as if she was embarrassed of how frank she was being, "I am _very_ jealous of zis girl."

Her golden hair whipped across her once more, blown by a sudden, mischievous gust of wind. Harry brushed aside a lustrous strand that happened to caress his face, his vision blurring golden for an instant.

And just as he had swept her hair away, he discovered that she had drawn even closer to him, her dark blue eyes shining with both passion and uncertainty. He had a moment to take in the sheer _perfection_ of her features – the thin, almost avian nose that anchored her angular face, the long, dark eyelashes that fluttered provocatively, even without a desire on her part to _want_ to look beautiful, the thin eyebrows that framed her large, beautiful, almond-shaped eyes – before she leaned in, her lips touching his.

And then, she kissed him. For an instant, Harry froze, before he impulsively leaned in and returned her kiss, moulding her lips with his own and drawing a moan of lust from her.

Suspended on a reflected sea of stars, on a vessel that shone as white as the moon, they kissed. The wind whipped around them, her blonde hair tangling with his thick black mane, and they pressed their bodies against each other, revelling in their sudden passion. For a fleeting moment, all of Harry's worries fell away – like leaves in an autumn wind – as he felt… _serenity_ for what seemed like the first time in ages.

Then the air grew still as the boat bumped onto the lakeshore.

The sound of a cleared throat made the couple start. Harry opened his eyes – eyes that he had closed in bliss – and drew his lips away from Fleur's, but he saw that her eyes still appeared to want him to continue. He looked at the source of the sound that had so rudely disturbed them, only to have reality come crashing around him as he beheld a _furious_ … Narcissa.

He flinched and Fleur huffed as she tore her gaze away from him and glared at Narcissa, her hands still around his shoulders.

"N… Professor Malfoy," Harry gasped as he took his hands off Fleur's hips.

"Mister Potter," Narcissa breathed, her voice choked with rage, "Get _off_ that boat."

Fleur scoffed, but looked at Harry in surprise as he tore himself from her grip and disembarked. Her gaze softened as he held out a numb hand to her though.

"Detention," Narcissa grit out, " _Now_."

"What?" Fleur gasped, even as she stepped out of the boat, "Why?"

"For breaking curfew," Narcissa said, not even deigning to look at Fleur, "And I'd suggest you mind your own business."

"Then should _I_ not serve detention with him?" Fleur asked hotly.

Narcissa did not even bother with a reply. "Mister Potter," she said stiffly, "My office. _Now_. Miss Delacour, I don't _care_ what you do. Go enjoy the party… or something."

Fleur spluttered. "Zis isn't _fair_ ," she said, "You cannot do zis."

"I assure you I _can_ ," Narcissa said, giving Fleur a venomous glance. She then gave Harry a look that _could_ be called a glare, but in Harry's opinion, the word 'glare' would have been an understatement.

" _Now_ ," she breathed again as she turned on her heel and marched up to the castle.

"Fleur," Harry said apologetically, "I… I… I'm sorry. I didn't… I don't… I'll see you tomorrow?"

Fleur smiled weakly at him and gave Narcissa's retreating back a look filled with hatred. "I _will_ see you tomorrow," she said firmly, grabbing Harry's hand and giving it a firm squeeze, "Don't you _dare_ forget tonight. And remember, you still _owe_ me."

Harry nodded quickly and hurried after Narcissa, even as Fleur gave him a look filled with longing and abruptly departed for her own lodgings, in the direction of the large Beauxbatons carriage.

Lily sighed as she stretched out on her bed. She had desperately wanted to see Harry, but Sirius had told her in an infuriatingly happy voice that Harry was 'traipsing outside the castle.'

And that was a pity – because she _really_ wanted the comfort that his company provided her.

 _Born to those that have thrice defied the darkness…_

Her and James. Not quite the ideal couple everyone thought them to be, not that they were even given the chance to be ideal. She didn't want to go _back_ though. No, she wanted to step into a _new_ life. With someone else. It was a thought that, by all rights, should have made her guilty, but it did not.

Because she _loved_ Harry. A sick, ridiculous love, but _love_ nonetheless.

She curled up on her bed, an empty feeling in her stomach – her happiness waylaid by Dumbledore's _stupid_ revelations and Harry's ridiculous desire to take a walk around the castle grounds all by himself – and missing Harry more than ever.

Harry flinched as the door slammed shut behind him with a vengeance. Narcissa turned to face him, her mask of cold indifference finally yielding before her rage, her visage turning fearsome and every muscle quivering with anger.

"What…" she managed to grit out, "What was _that_?"

"I…" Harry tried, and failed.

"All this time," Narcissa snarled, " _All this time_ , I thought that _ridiculously_ written article was false… and then, I find that _all this time_ , you _were_ cavorting with a veela _whore_!"

"Don't talk about Fleur like that," Harry snapped.

"Oh?" Narcissa asked, her voice dangerously calm, "That's how it is?"

"Maybe," Harry said tersely, his own emotions dangerously close to tipping over the edge.

"So you _were_ cavorting with _her_?" Narcissa asked.

"No," Harry replied laconically, trying to leash his own anger.

"You _dare_ lie to _me_?" Narcissa asked, her voice beginning to snap.

" _You_ dare question _me_?" Harry retorted.

Narcissa exhaled visibly, her face paling, but in rage rather than intimidation.

"After the stunt _you_ pulled," Harry pressed, "You want to question _my_ actions?"

"What stunt?" she asked.

Harry fluttered his eyelashes in a mocking fashion. "Oh _Pierre_ , oh dear dear _Pierre_ , oh you look so good, and you're so smart!" he said in a high-pitched voice.

Narcissa frowned. " _That_ is what you think of me?" she asked in contempt.

"I don't know _what_ to think!" he said, "All I know is _you_ fawning all over him at dinner!"

"I wasn't _fawning_ , don't be ridiculous," she snapped.

"Yes you _were_ ," Harry insisted.

"Fine!" she said, "Fine! Maybe I was!"

"Great," Harry said, "Are we done then?"

"Was _that_ what I said?" she asked.

"What _are_ you saying?" he retorted, "And why are you even _talking_ to me when you could be all over _him_?"

"I wasn't all over him _for_ him, you buffoon!" she cried.

"Then. What. Were. You. Doing?" he grit out.

"I was trying to make _you_ jealous!" she screamed.

A thunderous silence followed that statement. Harry gaped at a fuming Narcissa.

"And that's supposed to make everything okay?" he asked incredulously.

"Did I say that? When did I say that?" Narcissa asked hotly.

"That means you don't even condone your _own_ behaviour!" he pointed out, "And I haven't heard an apology!"

"An apology!" Narcissa spluttered, "You're asking _me_ for an apology? You, who, as soon as my back is turned, try to kiss the nearest available _whore_?"

"I didn't kiss her!" he snapped, "She kissed _me_!"

"I don't care how it started," she countered, "But I _did_ see how it ended. You kissed her as much as she kissed you and you haven't even wiped her disgusting taste off your _lips_ yet!"

"What do you _want_ me to say?" he asked, "I thought we were done!"

"Done?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, " _Done_?"

"What was I supposed to think then?" he asked, his anger snapping at last, "Are we exclusive, Narcissa? Is that what we are? Because whenever I land upon _that_ topic when we're together, you seem keen to avoid it! What am I supposed to _think_?"

"You're supposed to think we _are_ exclusive!" Narcissa said, "You're supposed to _know_ we're exclusive. Have I ever given you the impression that we're _not_ a couple?"

"It doesn't work that way," he snapped, "And you're _married_!"

"So what? As soon as you see me so much as flutter my eyelashes at a man, you immediately turn to someone else to console yourself?" she asked.

"I didn't even _plan_ to console myself!" he snapped, "It wasn't like I walked up to Fleur and asked for pity sex."

"Oh, so you _did_ want to have sex with her?" Narcissa asked.

"I didn't say that," he said, echoing Narcissa's earlier statement. He continued, before she could muster up another accusation, "And if we're talking about how things started, _you_ went after dear old Pierre first."

"I did _not_ go after him," Narcissa said, "I only did it because _you_ were there! And you're still _lying_ to me! I _know_ there's another woman – I saw her _fucking_ bite on your shoulder! I was never the only one! There was _always_ someone else!"

Harry tried to keep his face blank, but he knew he had failed miserably when he saw Narcissa's eyes light up in triumph, and then turn cold in rage.

"So there _is_ another woman," she snarled, "Who _is_ it?"

Harry had no idea _what_ to say. He stared at Narcissa, his mouth opening and closing, but he failed to muster up the right words. Instead, he said, "So _that_ 's what this is all about? That's why you pulled that little stunt at dinner? When you could've just _asked_ me about it?"

"Well, I'm asking you _now_ ," she said, keeping her voice level with what he could see was great effort, "Who _is_ this other _slut_ , if it's not the little French tart?"

Harry stared at her, hoping his brain would supply him with a reply, but all of the presence of mind in the world could not furnish him with a stellar defence for this onslaught.

"Tell me," Narcissa commanded, unsheathing her wand, "NOW!"

Her wand slammed down, unleashing a wave of fire at him and he responded automatically, his hand plunging into his robes and already casting a silent spell as his wand came whipping out. A jet of water extinguished her fire. Narcissa followed up with a massive burst of some unidentifiable yellow-coloured jinx, but his shield proved strong enough to absorb it.

He ducked her next jet of purple light, and rolled under her subsequent arcing blue wave of magic. Before she knew it, he had closed the distance between them. He slapped her wand away from him, even as she turned to meet him, pushed his wand beneath her neck, clutched her waist simultaneously and thought, _Expelliarmus_.

Narcissa jerked back, but Harry's hand around her waist prevented her from smashing into the wall of her office. Her wand, though, went flying out of her hand, over her head and into Harry's right fist.

She appeared to be entirely stunned as Harry held two wands – one his and one hers – in his right hand as he backed away from her, his eyes wide. They both seemed incapable of comprehending the simple fact that Harry had beaten her cleanly in this particular duel, for the first time in his life, without the intrusion of such pesky phenomena as magical exhaustion.

And then, Harry felt a slow grin creeping up his face.

"Don't you _dare_ ," she snarled, backing away, "Don't you _dare_ … not after all this… don't you DARE!"

He flicked his wand at her and she rose into the air, her limbs extended straight out. "No," she gasped, as he sent an intricate stream of magic at her, undoing the stylish dress robes she had on. They fell away and Harry unclasped her corset with another wave of magic.

"No, no, _no_!" Narcissa screamed, struggling against her magical bonds as Harry advanced on her in predatory fashion, "Don't you dare _touch_ me. I haven't even warded… _nnnhhhhooo_ …"

Harry could honestly say he had no idea exactly what it was that was driving him, as he dropped his dress robes, leaving him in his shirt and slacks as he marched towards Narcissa – perhaps his motive was merely to vent his annoyance, or maybe it was revenge for dinner, or maybe it was just a mixture of the two. All he knew was that he had never been harder than he was at that moment, whence Narcissa's beautiful body lay sprawled in mid-air before him, every part of her available for his… perusal.

"Touch you?" he panted, "Like _this_?" He pushed out with his magic and the wands in his hand floated over to Narcissa's table. He then _slapped_ his palms onto her full breasts, kneading them with his hands, even as she screamed in rage, mixed with more than a little arousal. He closed his eyes, focused, and a snap indicated that he had managed to disable her paralysis wandlessly.

Narcissa grabbed his neck as soon as she had landed on her feet. "You _fucking_ pig," she snarled, "Disgusting _man-whore_."

"You're not pushing me away," he said softly, still palming her breasts.

" _Fuck_ you," she snarled and bit his shoulder as he clasped the forefinger and middle finger of his right hand together, following which he _hooked_ them between her thighs and into her cunt, which happened to be _sopping_ wet.

"Nnnngghh!" she muffled her scream onto his shoulder as he _churned_ her pussy walls, his fingers pressing against the _exact_ spot she found most arousing.

"You're _flowing_ ," he said, "For a woman who's so reluctant to have me touch her, you're sure flowing in _anticipation_ of the same thing you'd deny me."

"Shut _up_ ," she gasped, as she squeezed her hands in between their pressed bodies, trailed them down his abdomen, into his pants and _squeezed_ his soft cock, "Shut the _fuck_ up."

With one hand, Harry continued to slam his fingers back and forth in Narcissa's incredibly sloppy pussy as he undid his pants with the other, letting them fall to his feet. Narcissa started _kneading_ his cock frantically as his fingers stretched her pussy anew, with his thumb kneading her clitoris.

"Nnnhhh," she gasped, glaring at him, "Is that all you have at your command?"

Harry _pushed_ her back onto the wall, his fingers flicking out of her pussy simultaneously and giving her clit a last _touch_ , and she panted at the loss. He reached behind her, grabbing her delightfully perky rear possessively, and _lifted_ her up against the wall. Narcissa merely continued to pant as her fingers sank into his hair and grabbed his scalp. And then, her incredibly trim _cuntlips_ were in front of his face, virtually _leaking_ juices all over the place and he _plunged_ right in between them.

She screamed as his tongue immediately sprang into action, parting her lower lips and delving into her insides, squirming into her tight space and _licking_ at her walls.

"Munch on my cunt!" she gasped, " _Munch_ on it, oh _yes_ … fucking _munch_ on that cunny, you _man-whore_."

Harry grinned inwardly as he responded in a language he _knew_ she would appreciate. His tongue then began to _slither_ inside her, twisting inhumanly as he _hissed_ into her silky depths.

"You _snake_!" she screamed, as her body began to spasm and he found it incredibly difficult to hold her up, so he sank onto his knees, letting her feet plant themselves onto the ground, his lips not pausing in their massage of her vagina, and his tongue roving over her inner walls with impossible fluidity.

And then she _came_. Her walls contracted and _trembled_ around his tongue as she _sprayed_ all over his face, her fingers practically _digging_ into his head. Harry _shook_ her hands off him as he _nuzzled_ and slurped into her spraying vagina, making her scream out with a vengeance. He then _pulled_ away from her, her cunt-juices coating his face and she was only prevented from slumping to the ground by his sudden grip on her hips.

He _spun_ her around in his hands and bent her trembling body at the waist, even as she pushed _out_ with her hands and held onto the wall for support. Harry grabbed the base of his cock with one hand, the other still on her waist, and _beat_ it against her still-squirting pussy. "Nnnnggghh! Harry! You _fucking_ whore! Oaf!" she screamed.

"Uh huh," he said as he lined his turgid cock, which was practically _pulsing_ in his hand, ready for action as it _oozed_ pre-cum, against her vagina, which had mercifully stopped _pushing_ fluids out and was simply trembling as she strove to overcome her orgasm. And slowly, millimetre by millimetre, his fat, throbbing _head_ sank into her deliciously snug space. Harry groaned as he felt her silky, _tight_ walls quiver around his sensitive skin.

" _Bastard_ ," she snarled, even as her nipples grew hard as bullets and her cunt quivered in anticipation.

"Well then," Harry said, "Maybe I should just _keep_ it like this, shouldn't I?" His cockhead _flexed_ inside her, making Narcissa squirm against the wall.

" _Fuck_ you," she snarled again as she _wiggled_ against him.

Harry held his hands up in the air, his cockhead still sheathed inside her vagina. "It's up to you, Narcissa," he said, his voice harsh, "You can move away this _very_ instant, call this off right _now_."

Narcissa glared as she looked over her shoulder at him. "I _hate_ you," she snarled and his cock flexed again inside her walls. She then bit her lower lip, looked right at the wall and… _sank_ down.

Harry groaned as his cock _squelched_ into her _incredibly_ tight _fuckhole_ , her vaginal walls _struggling_ in their attempt to part before his fat head as he _squeezed_ into her.

Narcissa grit her teeth and whined as she _speared_ him down her cunt, inch by throbbing inch, until her asscheeks _squeezed_ into his abdomen, and panted.

"Oh so _fucking_ big!" she screamed, "You're a _beast_. A brutish _beast_!"

Harry grunted as he felt his cockhead bump against a bony _something_ inside her, even as her walls _massaged_ his cock in an _incredible_ fashion. And that was when he realized that he had officially lost his virginity.

That epiphany spurred him to _move_ , even as Narcissa screamed, " _No_! Don't!" His cock _lurched_ through her vaginal walls, _cutting_ a wet, squelching path back until his head was nearly _out_ , before he _fucked_ his cockmeat back in, groaning at the feel of her pussy walls giving way before his battering ram. His hips met her ass again with a sound like a thunderclap, and she screamed.

Harry clapped both of his hands onto her ass, _kneading_ her rear cheeks as he began to _plumb_ her depths, jerking his body back and forth, steadily increasing in rhythm as he revelled in the feeling of her pussy simply _accepting_ and _worshipping_ his cock.

"This was what you _wanted_ all along, wasn't it?" Narcissa screamed as he _churned_ her depths with his cock, "You just wanted to _sheathe_ that _fat_ monster inside my cunny, didn't you? Just _fuck_ it in and out of me with abandon?"

"Yes," Harry panted as he moulded his body against her and reached around her to cup her heaving breasts, "This is what I wanted. To fucking _take_ you."

" _Fuck_ you," Narcissa gasped, "So _big_ , such a fat, enormous, cock, just _taking_ what it wants, whenever it wants, huh?"

Harry laughed as he _slammed_ into her, her elbows bending as she tried to absorb the sheer _force_ of his railing.

"Looks like _you_ want the same thing I do," he snarled.

"No," Narcissa gasped, but her sploshing, _wet_ cunt gave her away, "It's all your fault, the fault of your fat _cock_ , just _spearing_ itself into my little pussy without _my_ permission."

Harry kissed all over her back as he kneaded her breasts like soft dough, _pulling_ at her nipples occasionally, his cock _forcing_ gasps out of her.

"You're… _nnnhhhh_ … making me _cum_ ," Narcissa whimpered, "You're making me _cum_!"

Her orgasm started up again – a slow, building onset of _pleasure_ – as she threw her head back and panted, her eyes rolling into her skull, even as her vagina started quivering all over Harry's pistoning shaft.

"I don't _want_ to cum!" she moaned, "No! _Fuck_! Unnnnhhh _, fuck_! No!"

And then her walls _fluttered_ around his shaft as she _hosed_ cum out of her vagina _around_ his cock, spurting all over his groin as she screamed to the high heavens for mercy and Harry contradicted her false wish, mercilessly pounding her through it all.

Her head started lolling up and down as her orgasm went on and _on_ , driven by Harry's constant, unceasing brutish _pounding_ , his cock _shlicking_ through her spasming love tunnel, his hard body _slamming_ into her soft ass with a _very_ dirty slapping sound.

Eventually though, Harry started breathing hard as he felt his own end approaching. He slowed down, in an attempt to draw out his _own_ pleasure – which was practically at its very _peak_ , teetering on the verge of climax, his cockhead flexing and throbbing in anticipation of sweet release – and Narcissa's orgasm began to wind down. She found herself able to articulate again, and in time, as her palpitating, rebellious body began to leash itself back to her will, able to give in to her _true_ emotions at that moment.

"Harry," she said, her voice acquiring a surprising softness and delicacy, making Harry stop in his relentless sawing, "Please. _Please_. I don't want you to… finish… like _this_."

He could _hear_ her vulnerability, her affection, her warmth, again, and that made him smile again – the world seemed to fill with colour again and his single-minded, bestial instinct fell away, to be replaced by _passion_.

He paused, savouring the moment. He then kissed her smooth skin, his lips caressing her back, as he _pulled_ his cock out, her ejaculate _dripping_ off his pulsing shaft. His hands, which had been hugging and moulding her breasts, moved to hold her hips. He _pushed_ , his cock wedging itself into her plush rear as she straightened, holding herself up her hands on the wall. He twirled her around and stepped forward, so that she was pinned between the wall and his _own_ hard body, her soft, full breasts flattening against his chest.

"Yes," she moaned, _grinding_ against him, "This is… this is good."

Harry held her face in his hands, his expression soft, his caresses tender, and said, "I'm so _sorry_ , Narcissa. I'm so, _so_ sorry."

"I owe _you_ an apology too," she said, her body still _moving_ against him, her lips a scant few millimetres away from his own. Her expression then hardened and she said, "I'm _not_ losing you, come what may."

They kissed at once, their lips giving release to their frustrations, their grudges, and to their _passions_ , which swirled afresh within them, driven by the need, the _urge_ to be together again.

Narcissa pushed up on her heels, her lips moving up and placing a soft kiss on his nose, even as he leaned down, angling his penis up and then _plunging_ back in, his motion smoother, and his passage made easier by his previous, more brutal, use of the same tunnel he now took such _pleasure_ in penetrating.

They moved against each other, their bodies in sync, their rhythms a symphony of affection. Narcissa gasped in pleasure each time he sheathed himself and could not help but blush as she finally _relished_ the sound their intimate connection elicited, the _slap_ of flesh against flesh, the _splurt_ of her juices spraying around his girthy meat, in a manner that was less primal, and more _human_.

"Harry…" she breathed, as she looked intently at him and gasped at the end of a downstroke, his cockhead bumping into that same bony space again.

He merely took in the sight of her – flushing, gasping, moaning, brought to such pleasure by _him_ – and said nothing, letting her passion play out.

"I…" she gasped again, as his hips clapped into her thighs.

"I… _love_ you," she breathed at last and then swooped down to kiss him.

Harry registered her words in the next instant, but his gasp was muffled by her lips, her tongue dancing with his.

What _could_ he say? "I love you too" would be too corny, but saying nothing at all would be cruel and ring false. He chose instead, to lean into the kiss, to express his _own_ affection through his passion.

And then, in an instant filled with wandering hands, delicious lips and sheer pleasure, the familiar, _beloved_ lilac scent whipping his senses into a passionate frenzy, he froze and _came_. Burst after _burst_ of his semen plugged her vagina and _spilled_ into her womb, filling her up, even as she moaned in desire and looked heavenwards at _being_ filled; their kiss deepened, his hands tightening around her.

He clutched her into him with each spurt, his cock _shoving_ into her vagina in a primal desire to get as deep within her as possible, ploughing such depths as she had never _known_ could be reached.

Eventually, his spasms ceased and he relaxed against her, even as her hands worked loving circles onto his back and their lips came undone.

"That… was an unexpected confession," he panted, "But welcome, in any case. _Very_ welcome."

Narcissa looked deep into his eyes and said, "I had to let you know… my _goodness_ I sound like such a school-girl, but it's true… I _want_ to let you know. I'm going home for the winter and this… this could be our last time this year."

Then, she smiled at him, though her smile seemed more a superior smirk this time around as his cock continued to pulse inside her. "Did I just make you a _man_ , love?"

"I guess you did," Harry said.

"Good," Narcissa said, even as his softening cock _slipped_ out of her gaping quim, which immediately started leaking a rivulet of _his_ sperm, mixed with _her_ juices, "And this _other_ woman – oh, I haven't actually forgotten about _her_ , love – I hope she comes to know of this, one way or another."

Harry froze, but Narcissa did not seem to _want_ him to slip into guilt. She caressed his head in her palms and gently kissed him again.

"I don't want to think about _that_ now, and I don't want _you_ to, either," she said, "I… I want this to be… special. Think _only_ about me. Forget about _her_. Forget about the guilt. This is about us. Only us. Lost in space and in time. _Together_."

Harry exhaled, clearing his mind at once as they both slumped to the floor, their faces betraying their pleasure at the idea that their union had come to fruition at last.

It was only halfway through the corridor that Hermione realized she was actually humming the same tune Luna did, all the time – it was an _old_ tune, Luna had said, and part of a song that her mother had liked.

And for some reason, the Ravenclaw girl, who she had bid farewell to barely five minutes ago – and the memory of this night – made her smile. It had taken her a fair amount of her usual Gryffindor bravado to make this leap, and she knew it would take the same amount of courage to endure the natural consequence of that leap. But this one night, flitting through rose bushes, the touch of Luna's lips against hers, the laughter they shared when they had stumbled across a very irate Fleur marching away from a very confused-looking Head Boy, and even the pity they had felt, as one, at the plight of an abandoned Hagrid and the conversation they had overheard – Hermione knew she would treasure these moments far into her adulthood.

Although, she chastised herself for being distracted; her feet seemed to be taking her in an entirely wrong direction – she didn't quite have Harry's knack for instinctively choosing all the right routes. She had wandered right outside the Defence Professor's usual office. But before she could turn around and correct her course, she saw that the office door – usually closed shut – was now slightly open.

And _that_ set her a little on edge – she had never known Professor Malfoy to be so careless before, and she knew that such sloppiness could only be the result of some prank on part of a student, or a more nefarious event.

There was also the fact that she was immensely curious – she had only been inside Narcissa's office once before, with Harry, to ask the beautiful Defence Professor a few questions. So she tiptoed up to the door and peeked.

And then she was forced to suppress a squeal of surprise as she saw _exactly_ what was going on. The sight of a woman's naked body greeted her and it was a _beautiful_ sight indeed – full, firm breasts, a perfectly trim figure and legs that seemed to go on forever. Then, she noticed the hair – and there was no mistaking the long, curly blonde locks.

Hermione had no idea if she should withdraw with a blush and a gasp, or thank her stars for _this_ opportunity and continue to peek at her Defence Professor in a manner that she would usually find perverse. But spurred by the emotions that had overtaken her that night, she chose the latter option.

And that was when she saw _him_. Narcissa Malfoy was with someone _else_. A male and _definitely_ not her husband; she could not remember seeing Lucius Malfoy that evening. For a moment, she marvelled at the fact that _she_ of all people was able to witness this extra-marital affair, and wondered if Narcissa was actually cheating on her husband with the admittedly dashing Frenchman she had been talking to all evening, but the black hair of the male companion quickly dissuaded Hermione of that notion.

It was not the Frenchman. It was someone else. Someone else with a black head of hair. A very _messy_ black head of hair. A very _familiar_ black head of hair.

Narcissa turned to the side, moulding herself against her male companion and the man's body was revealed at last.

Hermione reeled in horror. She backed away from the door, retreating frantically until she felt her back make contact with the far wall.

 _No, no, no, no, no_.

It was _Harry_.

It was all _wrong_. Hermione could hardly suppress her trembling – it was all so _wrong_. A teacher – a _married_ teacher at that – with a _student_. So wrong, so utterly, entirely wrong.

She _had_ to tell someone.

And in an instant, she started sprinting away from the room – she _had_ to tell someone. Someone who was as concerned about Harry as she was. Someone – an adult with more experience and better judgement – who could digest all of this without reacting on impulse and make the right decision for _him_.

She had to tell _Lily_.


	18. Confrontations

**Confrontations**

It all snapped into place for Lily as her son's best friend told her… everything. The mysterious summer, the constant stream of detentions, the Yule Ball… all of the events snapped into place like jigsaw pieces in her mind and the resulting picture was absolutely staggering. The clues had all been in place – she had just failed, _miserably_ , to put them together and arrive at the horrifying conclusion that had now been betrayed to her.

And now, she knew that betrayal should have been at the forefront of her mind, and she knew that she should feel hurt beyond repair. But all of those emotions were overruled by a single, overwhelming torrent of… _rage_.

"Lily?" Hermione asked tentatively, as every muscle in Lily's body seemed to freeze and her fists clenched by themselves.

Lily could have digested an affair with Cho Chang. Or even the admittedly gorgeous and talented Fleur Delacour. Or even _Hermione_. _That_ , she could have taken, she could have processed, and she would probably have felt hurt. She would probably have felt betrayed.

But this wasn't Chang, or Delacour, or Hermione. This was… _her_. That _fucking_ bitch.

And _that_ sent Lily teetering close to an edge she had never known before. She had always been called hot-tempered by her friends, but this was _beyond_ just a brush with anger. This was rage, blazing white-hot within her - rage of a sort she had seldom known before. Her green eyes – normally fierce and expressive – were now swirling with fury.

"Lily?" Hermione tried again.

Lily managed to relax her neck muscles and look at the girl, who flinched immediately.

"Don't follow me," Lily said, her heart pounding against her chest and her voice dangerously level, "I'd advise you to go back to your dorm. And tell _nobody_ of this."

Hermione stared at her and took a step back involuntarily. Lily pursed her lips, every nerve in her body frozen in breathless anticipation of a fiery explosion, pushed past her alarmed informant and exited her quarters, the door slamming open by the force of her untamed magic.

Narcissa could not remember feeling more happy in her life. There was still that little niggling thought – that _other_ woman – she refused to indulge in tonight, but then again, she had never really known happiness that was not marred by some little blot.

She knew that the thought would come back to bother her later, and that she would soon have to extract the truth out of her lover. But for now, she merely wanted to reflect on the joy of his erstwhile company. The memory of his _touch_.

She was a _woman_ once more. And that made her feel more special, more beautiful, than she had ever felt before.

But just as she was beginning to lapse into happy memories of the night, with the promise of blissful dreams once she closed her eyes and fell asleep, the door to her quarters slammed open to reveal a very unexpected guest, who promptly charged into her room. Narcissa got up immediately, only to behold… Lily Potter.

A very _furious_ Lily Potter, her rich red hair askew, teeth bared and wand at the ready.

Narcissa was up as soon as Lily closed the distance between them. The redhead thumped her palm onto the wooden table that lay in her path and used it as leverage to leap over the desk. She then barrelled into Narcissa and turned so that the blonde was pushed onto the wall at the foot of her bed. Lily's left arm _slammed_ into her throat, choking her, even as Lily pointed her wand at Narcissa's face with her right

But Narcissa was no slouch – she snapped her own wand up and took great satisfaction in seeing Lily's eyes widen as the redhead felt Narcissa's wand poke into her neck.

"You _fucking_ BITCH!" Lily roared, ignoring the wand at her neck with every feature contorted in fury, "You _dare_ … you _dare_ seduce _my_ Harry! You fucking _dare_!"

The world seemed to come to a stop around Narcissa as she paled. _This_ was a confrontation she had expected at some point, but not quite one she was prepared to meet with zest.

"Give me _one_ reason," Lily snarled, "One good reason why I shouldn't reduce your head to pulp with my bare hands."

For a moment, Narcissa was thunderstruck. Then, with great effort, she wrenched herself out of her shock and snarled right back, "I'd like to see you _try_."

Lily's eyes _burned_ , even as Narcissa inhaled and tensed, ready for a close-quarters duel. And just as she drew breath to blurt out a curse, she sensed it. The same wildflower she had smelt before, in that broom cupboard, on Harry. The same scent that had caused her to fall into a spiral of self-pity and hurt. The same scent this _other_ woman had bequeathed upon Narcissa's lover.

The scent of a wildflower. The scent of a… _lily_.

Narcissa gasped – she had no idea if she felt more horror or shock at her abrupt, if still uncertain, deduction. She gaped at Lily for a moment, wondering if she was mistaken, _hoping_ that her senses had betrayed her – but the scent was too strong, and her memory of it too fresh, to ignore the evidence entirely.

"You!" Narcissa blurted, her wand piercing Lily's neck even further, "It was _you_ all along. You… that… how could _you_? How could you… he's your _son_!"

For a moment, Narcissa wondered if she was insane for even alleging such a horrific crime, even if she was pinning it on a woman she loathed, but then, Lily grew pale. And that was all the confirmation Narcissa needed – the redhead did not even try to deny the accusation.

"How…" Lily began, but trailed off. "He _told_ you?" Lily asked uncertainly.

Narcissa was tempted to lie, but she was still too shocked to do so effectively. "No," she gasped. Lily stared at her, uncertainty seeping into her furious countenance.

Narcissa took advantage of Lily's momentary indecision to bring up her knee, slamming it into Lily's stomach. The redhead cried out, more in surprise than genuine pain, and staggered back, her wand still pointed at Narcissa, who was now able to extend her own wand arm at Lily.

They glared at each other, and neither gaze was less scathing than the other.

"Then… how did you…?" Lily asked.

"He _reeked_ of your stink," Narcissa said, scrunching up her nose in disgust, "You… how could you do that with him? He's your _son_ , you horrid little _bitch_!"

"Because you're such a saint," Lily snapped, "You… how could _you_ do that to him? You're _married_! Was it about revenge? Revenge against me? Was that it?"

"Don't flatter yourself," Narcissa spat, "Harry has absolutely nothing to do with you, and whatever's between me and him is, frankly, none of your business, you hypocritical _slut_. So thirsty for sex that you'd rather exploit your own _son_!"

Lily's wand twitched and Narcissa tensed, but Lily seemed to exert her self-control at the last minute. "You don't get to judge me," Lily growled, "You expect me to believe that your relationship with Harry is altruistic and noble?"

"Is _yours_?" Narcissa asked.

" _Fuck_ you!" Lily snarled, "What do you think the _Headmaster_ would say about this?"

"I'd imagine his words wouldn't be too different from whatever he'd have to say to you," Narcissa retorted, her wand trembling with rage, "My crime might be unpardonable in _some_ eyes, but _yours_ , on the other hand… there are such sins that cannot be expurgated by the fires of _hell_ itself, and yours happens to be just such a sin, _whore_."

Lily pursed her lips and exhaled, _hard_ , her wand still in her hand and her eyes blazing with anger. "You _don't_ get to judge me," she repeated, "You have no idea what I've been through, no idea how _far_ and how _deep_ my connection with him runs. Let. Him. Go."

Narcissa's lips curled upwards. "No," she said simply, "I don't think I will."

"You little _bitch_!" Lily screamed, "You _will_ LET HIM GO!"

"And leave him to _you_?" Narcissa asked in contempt, "A perverse bitch who calls herself a _mother_? And then _uses_ her OWN SON? _Never_!"

"Then we are at an impasse," Lily said with a cold smile. Her wand snapped up, magic forming at its tip, even as Narcissa pushed out with her own magic, when the door, which had reverted to a partially open position, slammed open once more.

"What, in the name of _Merlin_ , is going on here?" Minerva McGonagall asked them, stepping into the Defence Professor's office, "What _is_ this commotion all about? And what are you two _doing_?"

Narcissa said nothing, still striving, in vain, to overcome her sheer vehemence at what the redheaded _animal_ opposite her had done to _her_ Harry.

"Minerva…," Lily began and then paused uncertainly.

Narcissa exhaled and pocketed her wand calmly – there would be no duel today, much to her disappointment and relief. Lily's wand was still outstretched, but it trembled as Minerva glared at her.

"Did you two _ever_ grow up?" the Deputy Headmistress asked, "Or do you merely want our students to see two of their _adult_ teachers fighting in the halls for a reason that I'm sure is incredibly petty?"

"Far from it," Narcissa said coldly. Lily pursed her lips, her eyes still blazing in rage as she lowered her arms at last.

"Now, do I have to make you two shake hands?" Minerva asked, exasperated.

Narcissa could not have brought herself to touch the _bitch_ , even if she _wanted_ to.

Lily was still breathing hard. She suddenly marched up to Narcissa, even as Minerva took out her own wand and pointed it at Lily in alarm.

"Someday, you're not going to be at Hogwarts anymore," Lily hissed so that Minerva would not hear, "Someday, Harry's going to be _hurt_ by his association with you, and on thatday, I'll be waiting, with a _Killing Curse_. But in the meantime, I'm still going to try my damnedest to make sure he doesn't touch you again. Not _ever_."

Narcissa smirked at Lily – she _wanted_ to hurt the redhead as much as she could, but for now, she was confined to what she hoped would be an infuriating smirk to Lily.

Lily, however, merely glared at her, turned on her heel abruptly, intending to march away, but Narcissa would be damned if she let the _bitch_ go away without a parting volley.

"And yet, if Harry is as indifferent to me as you allege," Narcissa hissed in an equally low voice, "I wonder why I was, by his own admission, his _first_."

Lily paused, her wand twitching again, but then she seemed to make up her mind, pushed right past a stunned Minerva and walked away, her heels clicking loudly through the corridor outside.

"What…" Minerva asked, turning to Narcissa, "What was that all about?"

Narcissa shrugged mutely and turned to her bed. "I'm _very_ tired, Minerva," she said, "And I'd really like to go to bed now."

"Fine," Minerva grit out, "But you two better be ready when Albus summons you to his office – I _will_ be reporting this to the Headmaster."

"Very well," Narcissa said, suddenly feeling incredibly weary.

Minerva sniffed and walked away; the room felt empty and silent, all of a sudden.

Narcissa slumped onto her bed and stared at the far wall. She had found out about that other woman at last. And where she had sought to draw out a target for herself, she had found only horror. Horror, and _repugnance_.

Her thoughts awhirl with revulsion and rage, Narcissa tried to will herself to sleep, but she knew that even a sleeping charm would not be enough to induce her to embrace the bliss that comes with slumber. Not tonight.

Harry whistled a jaunty tune as he made his way to Gryffindor Tower from Narcissa's office and not even a forced diversion, courtesy of Peeves, could spoil his mood. He had taken the scenic route around, despite the fact that it was well past curfew, and he still could not care less.

He pushed past the Fat Lady and crawled into the Gryffindor Common Room via the portrait hole, only to have his high spirits dip as he noticed an extremely pale-looking Hermione sitting on one of the large armchairs near the fire.

"Hermione?" he asked tentatively and she flinched violently, staring at him as if he were a ghost, "Are you alright?"

She glanced at him, and her stare soon turned to an incinerating glare.

"You… you…" she spluttered and Harry's heart sank as he saw a _glint_ in her eye. A _knowing_ glint.

"Hermione?" he asked again, a lump forming in his throat.

"You and… _Narcissa_!" she snarled, "What the _hell_ were you thinking?"

Harry gaped at Hermione, turning white as a sheet in an instant. He tried to say something, but words failed him at that moment.

"No, really," Hermione persisted vociferously, "What was going through your bloody head when you thought it was okay to sleep with a married _Professor_ , Harry?"

"Hermione, I…" he stammered, and then a new thought struck him that filled him with even more horror.

"Did you tell anyone else?" he asked, looking around wildly for interlopers.

Hermione crossed her hands and continued to glare at him, but a _tinge_ of apology crept into her eyes.

"I…" she said hesitantly, "Harry… I had no idea _what_ to do! I just caught you… you two in her office… and I _had_ to tell someone!"

"Who?" Harry asked, gaping at Hermione, "Who did you tell?"

"I told Lily," Hermione blurted out.

The world seemed to freeze around him as Harry stared at Hermione blankly for an entire, heart-stopping second, before he started sprinting back towards the portrait hole.

"Harry!" Hermione cried, "Where are you… it's past curfew!"

He did not even bother listening to her as he pushed the Fat Lady open and ran out, hoping against hope that his mother was still at her office and that the castle would not come crashing down around him.

 _And to think that a moment ago, the world had seemed a tad less cruel than it usually was._

He burst into Lily's office in a rush, though he had no idea what he would say, or even do, to make his behaviour any less condemnable, only to find the room perfectly empty. He stood in her office for a moment, wondering if he should start running again, when the sound of footsteps behind him signalled Lily's arrival.

He whirled around, only to have a fist come crashing into his face. Harry had a moment to think, ' _I deserved that_ ,' before he fell onto the floor, a bruise forming on his face.

" _Episkey_ ," murmured a cold, female voice and his face hurt slightly less immediately.

"Lily," he gasped, staring at the furious redhead in front of him, "I… I'm so sorry."

"Shut up," she snarled, circling around him, her fists clenched. Harry got up gingerly and turned around to face her.

He felt a pang shoot up his chest as he saw that Lily's eyes, though swirling with anger, were still glimmering in the light of the lone lamp flickering in a corner of her quarters.

"What…" she tried, but her voice was too choked for her to form a coherent sentence.

A moment of silence followed – a silence filled with anger on _her_ part, and guilt on his.

She cleared her throat and tried again. "What," she asked, every syllable absolutely _level_ , "What… what the _hell_ are you here for?"

"Lily, I…" Harry stammered, and trailed off.

"Do you..," Lily asked, her voice finally beginning to waver, sorrow catching up with her anger, "Do you… do you _love_ her?"

Harry held his breath and said nothing.

Lily looked at him, blinking her eyes furiously. "Do you… love _me_?" she asked plaintively.

"Of course I do," he said at once, his voice firm, but still filled with guilt.

She inhaled deeply. "I see," she breathed. And then she levelled him with a vengeful glare and asked, "Then what… what _need_ did you have that _I_ could not fulfil? What could that… that… _woman_ … give you that _I_ could not?"

"It's not _like_ that…" Harry tried.

"Then what is it LIKE?" Lily asked, every word growing louder until she was practically screaming at him, "WHAT THE _FUCK_ WERE YOU THINKING? AND WITH _HER_?"

"Lily, please…" he tried again, but he could not bring himself to justify his own behaviour. When all was said and done, he had still lied to two women who really mattered to him – even if it was just a lie of omission.

"Was it because you wanted to _laugh_ at me?" Lily asked, every breath escaping her in a burst of fury, "Each time I insulted her, each time I called her what she was – an utter _bitch_ – were you laughing at me behind my back? Was _that_ it?"

"No," Harry said, drawing himself up, "No. No, that was not it."

"THEN WHAT WAS IT ALL ABOUT?" Lily roared.

"I… I _wasn't_ thinking," Harry said softly, "I wasn't even… I didn't…"

"When… when did… how long have you and she…?" Lily asked, a tear finally managing to squeeze itself out of her glimmering green eyes.

"Since summer," he admitted, looking away.

"So it was _always_ her," Lily said, "She… even before you and I…"

"Yes," Harry said.

"And you and she… have you… was she your first…?" Lily asked, tears falling fast and free from her eyes, even as her hand twitched.

Harry's breath escaped him in a burst. "Yes," he said again.

A flask on Lily's desk shattered into pieces as her magic spilled outwards in rage, even as Harry started and staggered back a pace.

"You… you… and _her_ …" Lily breathed, "Why… why did it _have_ to be _her_?"

"I'm sorry," Harry said. There was nothing else he _could_ say.

"Get out," Lily snapped.

"Lily," Harry tried, but she seemed unrelenting.

"Get OUT!" she screamed, "NOW!"

Harry let out another breath, nodded slowly and turned to walk away, when she asked, her voice now quivering with both sorrow and rage, "That's it? You're just going to walk out?"

He spun in place and looked at her, his eyes tender. "Lily," he said, words tumbling out of him, "I never meant to hurt you. I _know_ that doesn't make it any better – and I _know_ I'm a cad for doing this – but… honestly, I _have_ no defence. My behaviour was reprehensible, and I'll understand if you hate me forever for this. But this was never about hurting you… _ever_."

"And you think that speech excuses you?" Lily asked incredulously, "That it makes your libertine attitude to relationships okay?"

"No," Harry said, "Nor do I think I qualify as a libertine."

Lily marched up to him and he tensed, preparing for another punch, but this time, her physical demonstration of rage was entirely unexpected. She… _kissed_ him, her lips moulding against his, her arms encircling his chest and he fell into old habits with ease as he kissed her back, all of his guilt and sorrow making itself known through his lips.

"Lily," he gasped as she pulled off him, but she cut him off with a furious whisper, "No. Not. A. _Word_."

She pushed him and he stumbled over the desk behind him. She then climbed atop him, caught his neck and _slammed_ his back on the flat top of the table. She then twirled around, her robes vanishing mid-turn, and smashed her core down on his face, even as she undid his pants and freed his organ, which was rock-hard, much to _his_ dismay.

She said nothing though, and _plunged_ her mouth around his shaft, even as his own tongue slithered out and tasted _her_. She _ground_ herself down on him, _using_ his tongue to fuck herself, his wet organ slithering all around inside her inner walls.

Her hands curled around his shaft and tugged _painfully_ , smashing into his puffy balls, even as she _worked_ her lips up and down his penis, tongue slurping at his meat, and to make things deliciously worse for him, he was still sensitive from his previous sordid encounter that night.

So he reverted to Parseltongue immediately, tongue slithering, twisting and curling inside her and he noticed, through his shock, that she had begun to grow _very_ still around him, signalling that she was on the verge of an orgasm, even as juices _flowed_ around his tongue and his cock started twitching inside her hot mouth.

Immediately, even as her vaginal walls started _trembling_ , she twisted, pulling out of his grip so that she faced him the right way around, heaving breasts hovering tantalizingly above his face, nipples hard and her face glaring at him.

She then _pushed_ down, plugging her cunt with his enormous monster and Harry _groaned_. Her vaginal walls were practically _vibrating_ as he sheathed himself within her. Her eyes rolled up and she _growled_ possessively as he _plunged_ within her, _fucking_ his way through her fat pussy lips and then _into_ an immensely tight space. And even as his cock was only half inside her, she _came_ , her pussy finally letting loose its arousal, a jet of her juices spurting _furiously_ around his fat cock.

It was _bliss_ – her walls spasmed wildly around his cock, squeezing, massaging, _twitching_ , enfolding and _clasping_ onto him at once, making him squirm in pleasure, even as he groaned out loud. Lily's eyes, though she barely made a sound, merely glaring at him, betrayed her pleasure as she grit her teeth and _smashed_ her _hosing_ , pumping vagina onto his abdomen, his cock flexing and twitching inside of her, now entirely sheathed.

"Has _she_ ever done this?" Lily growled, "Has _she_ been this good, you whoring _fuck_?"

Harry merely groaned in reply, not trusting himself to say anything coherent, or comforting, through his haze of pleasure and lust.

And then she started _pumping_ him with her hot, tight, _squirting_ , vagina, slamming her hips up and down his cock, _fucking_ him into her cunt, intent on utterly destroying him. Her hands _pulled_ at his nipples, making him gasp, even as she snarled as his cock _sliced_ into her _delicious_ cavity, making her orgasm go on and _on_.

Harry was seeing stars at this point, even as he numbly fondled her amazing tits, pushing a puffy nipple into his mouth and tasting it helplessly.

"Cum!" she snarled, "Cum! Fucking _cum_! NNNNNNGGGGGHHH!"

And he obeyed – he was too sensitive, her soft breast too alluring, her face, even twisted as it was in fury, too beautiful, her red hair, streaming all over the place, too attractive and her vagina _too_ relentless in its wet, _gushing_ assault on him, that his cockhead seemed to _burst_ open, making him moan in pleasure as he _painted_ her walls white. Squirt after squirt escaped him, thick, sticky globs of semen, flooding her insides, even as she growled in satisfaction.

And even after he had finished, she _kept_ fucking his shaft into her vagina, which had mercifully stopped squirting and much like his cock, was twitching in the aftermath of her orgasm.

"Did she make you cum this fast?" Lily asked furiously, " _Did she_?"

"No," he gasped.

"Good," Lily growled, her voice still quivering.

Then, she collapsed on top of him, his soft cock still embedded inside her and her vagina leaking his thick cum.

And then she started shaking against him, her hands tightening around his neck. He stroked her hair as she sobbed against him, a pang of guilt shooting through him again.

"I don't hate you," Lily whispered, "But I don't want you to see _her_ again. _Ever_."

Harry mustered himself up for another assault, but he could not bring himself to lie to her. "I can't do that, Lily," he whispered back.

Lily sobbed again and looked into his eyes. "Don't say that… _please_ don't say that," she choked out, "Don't. Don't, don't, don't see her again. _Please_."

"I can't," he repeated again.

She smashed her fists against his sides and he grunted. "And," she asked, her voice growing more firm, "If she asks you to stop seeing _me_ , would you obey _her_?"

"No," he said, "I won't."

"Harry, _please_ ," Lily pleaded, "She's _not_ a good woman. She's not even a good human being. You _will_ regret her association in time and I don't want to see you hurt. And I don't… I don't want to… I _won't_ … I'm _not_ … I don't _want_ to share. Not with _her_. Never with _her_."

He sighed again. "No," he muttered, "I can't."

Lily pushed herself off him and he grunted as she got up, his cock sliding out of her vagina at last.

"I'm not going to abandon you," she said sadly, "I'm not going to abandon you to _her_ , of all people. But someday… someday, you _will_ regret the fact that you ever knew her. Someday, she's going to drop you like a stone. Someday, she's going to show you her true colours – she's cold-hearted, selfish _bitch_. On that day, I'll still be there, waiting, but… but I won't have you cry over losing _her_."

Lily looked at her feet. "But for now," she said, "I… I… I want you to _leave_. I… I still have to come to terms with… all of this."

Harry nodded and got up, putting on his pants and shirt as fast as he could. He then turned to open the door, which had slammed shut at some point, and leave, but Lily grabbed his collar and spun him around to face her.

"I _love_ you," Lily said fiercely, "More than _she_ does. More than she ever _will_. Don't you forget that."

"I won't," he whispered.

"Good," she growled and let him go. Harry looked at her a moment, before he turned on his heel and walked to his dorm.

"Harry, you're an idiot," Hermione muttered the next morning, as they were making their bleary-eyed way to breakfast, "A horrible, short-sighted _idiot_ , who's too stupid to see that he's bringing about his own destruction. What is this, anyway? Some sort of self-destructive spiral?"

Harry sighed and grunted inarticulately in reply. He had barely returned from his post-exercise bath, when Hermione had accosted him on his way down from his dorm and proceeded to shower him with indignation.

"She's _married_ ," Hermione repeated, "What the hell are you even _thinking_? I mean, honestly, what is going through your bloody head right now?"

Harry shrugged nonchalantly as they neared the Great Hall. Hermione began to hiss out another question, but she stopped abruptly as they both saw a very anxious-looking Fleur Delacour waiting outside the Great Hall.

 _Oh… crap_ , Harry thought, resisting the urge to punch himself in the face.

"Fleur," he greeted, and his traitorous mind proceeded to admire her beauty all over again – the girl looked amazing even when she had barely got out of bed.

"Harry," she said, her lips curving into a serene smile, "I… I was wondering if I may… sit with you? At your table?"

"Why _do_ you sit at the Ravenclaw table anyway?" Hermione asked curiously.

Fleur frowned for an instant at the girl, before her countenance grew more amiable. She shrugged and said, "Force of habit? I'm not… obliged to sit with zem."

"Sure," Harry said, "Er… you can sit with us."

Hermione looked between them for a moment and then, to his surprise, _smirked_. "Excuse me," she said, and sidled past them into the Great Hall, even as Harry stared after her and then looked at Fleur, who blushed promptly.

"Fleur," Harry said quickly, and apologetically, "I… I don't know what came over me last night. I'm so sorry."

Fleur looked immensely hurt. "You did not…" she asked, "You did not enjoy it?"

"Of course I did," Harry snapped, "But… but, I… that woman we were talking about… I got back together with her."

Fleur frowned, and then her face just… fell as she looked immensely disappointed. Harry squirmed on the spot – for all his vehement denials of Skeeter's allegations of womanizing, he sure seemed to stumble into situations that skimmed the surface of infidelity too often to be entirely unaffected by such rumours.

"I see," she said slowly, looking around her warily, "Zis woman… she is ze woman we saw yesterday, _non_? Ze one who spirited you away? Ze one who was _jealous_?"

Harry gaped at her and she sighed. "Harry, I'm not _dumb_ ," she said flatly, "I have told you zat before."

"Yes, you have," he said softly, "And I'm _really_ sorry."

Fleur scrunched up her nose. "Zis woman is married, _non_?" she asked.

"Yes," Harry said helplessly.

"I see," Fleur said, her eyes flitting about in thought, "Zen she iz using you for an _affair_?"

"No," Harry said, and then sighed. "I don't think so."

Fleur stared at him for an instant, and then at the wall, her eyes still flickering, as if she was waging an internal war within herself and striving to overcome her disappointment. At last, she asked tremulously, "Do you… regret… ze fact zat we kissed?"

"No," Harry replied, before his mind could catch up with her question.

Fleur looked desperately like she wanted to smile, but a fair bit of disappointment seemed still etched on her face. "Good," she said, "Zat is… good."

She then inhaled, as if trying she were trying to draw confidence out of thin air and asked, her voice growing more firm, "And… do you find me attractive?"

"Fleur…" Harry started, but Fleur cut him off with a snap of her fingers.

"Answer ze question," she commanded abruptly.

"Yes," he said, "But…"

" _Non_ ," she said softly, "Do not… _please_ … do not say anything else."

"Fleur," Harry said, "Why did…"

" _Non_ ," she said, her face growing clearer, "I… I do not know why I asked that either."

Harry gave up trying to fathom her thoughts as she stood, radiant as ever in spite of her disillusioned countenance, in front of him. "Fleur," he said more firmly, "I'm not going to patronize you – you're too intelligent, too… well… above my league… for that. All I _can_ do is apologize to you – the memories of last night are ones that I _shall_ treasure, and never, ever forget. But… I won't lie to you – actually, I have no idea _what_ I want to say, seeing as how I'm… well…"

" _Oui_ ," Fleur interjected, as Harry fumbled for words, "I understand."

Harry sighed. "If you do decide to turn your back on me now," he said softly, "I'll understand. But… but if you do, I'll sorely miss our friendship."

Fleur bit her lower lip and twirled a lock of her hair around her index finger in an agitated fashion as she looked at him uncertainly. Eventually, she took in a deep breath and said, "I… I would like zat too. I would like to be… friends."

Harry nodded to her and stepped into the Great Hall with her by his side, but it seemed she had one last thing to say before they sat down at the Gryffindor table.

"We are friends," Fleur said, and softly added, her voice developing an edge, "For _now_."

"Look," Ginny grit out as Harry's group, _sans_ Fleur, assembled in the Common Room after breakfast, "All I'm asking is this – why was the floozy even at _our_ table, in _our_ seats?"

"Because she's Harry's friend," Luna replied serenely.

"And since when did she _become_ your friend?" Ginny asked him, her nostrils flaring, "When did she even stop looking at you like you're a flobberworm?"

"A few weeks ago," Harry responded blandly.

"And how is _a few weeks_ enough time for her to go from acquaintance to friend?" Ginny asked furiously.

"Ginny," Hermione said, "Let it go."

"And _you_ ," Ginny spat, whirling around to face Hermione, "What the _hell_ were you doing? We had a perfectly good seat on our side, but you just had to go make her sit on the other side."

"The seat was rickety," Hermione said nonchalantly.

"Was it?" Ginny asked sceptically, "Because it really seemed to me like you were doing something _else_."

"What do _you_ think I was doing?" Hermione asked archly.

"Match-making," Ginny accused.

Hermione shrugged and looked away, only to wince as Harry glared at her.

Ginny huffed and left to bid her year-mates goodbye for the winter vacations, along with Luna, leaving Harry and Hermione in the Gryffindor dorm.

"Were you really doing what she accused you of doing?" Harry hissed.

"Don't be ridiculous," she snapped, but he had known her too long to be fooled by her mild tone.

"Er… are you out of your mind?" he asked.

She glared at him. "Fine," she hissed, "Maybe I _am_ trying to set you up. So sue me. Anything to get you away from an unhealthy relationship."

"My… thing… with Narcissa is _not_ unhealthy. It's not even _close_ to unhealthy," he said tiredly.

"Sure," Hermione said sarcastically, "Except for the part where she's married and older than your _mother_."

 _Wait till you hear about my OTHER relationship,_ Harry thought sarcastically.

"Look, Hermione," Harry tried, "Me and Fleur… it's just not going to…"

"Work out?" Hermione finished hotly, and said, "Yeah, sure, because a relationship with a married _teacher_ will work out just fine, won't it? Fleur _cares_ for you. I can see it in her eyes."

"Just a week ago, you called her an air-headed dandy," he reminded her.

"Yeah, well," Hermione retorted, "I didn't know her all too well then, did I?"

"Because a fifteen-minute conversation with her over breakfast is more than enough for you to change your opinion of her," Harry said sarcastically.

"Sometimes, it _is_ ," Hermione insisted stubbornly. She sighed and then said, in a softer voice, "Harry, I don't want to see you hurt. And this… thing… you have, it can't end well. You _know_ that."

Harry shrugged. "She's helped me more than you think," he said earnestly, "And I'm not about to repay that kindness by dropping her as soon as the going gets tough."

"There isn't much question of _dropping_ if her extra-marital affair with a student is immoral in the first place, Harry," Hermione hissed.

Harry sighed – he knew this was an argument he simply could not win, so he tried to change subjects.

"Look, I just… I don't want to talk about it anymore," he said, and quickly continued as Hermione gave him a withering glare, "Instead, I'd really appreciate it if we focused on something else. Something that had totally skipped my mind until I saw Fleur."

"Which is?" Hermione asked, her curiosity getting the better of her indignation.

"The second task," Harry said, "I know about the clues the other champions received."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "And how exactly would you know about that?" she asked.

"Fleur told me," he said. He resisted the urge to palm his face when Hermione's eyes lit up immediately.

"Oh, _really_ ," she said, "Because I thought Fleur totally doesn't care for you."

"Really?" he asked, "Really? _That_ is what you have to say?"

"Fine," Hermione huffed. She then wagged a finger at him. "But don't let this… temporary cease-fire… make you think I'm dropping the issue, or making it less important. You're _not_ going to continue your… trysts… with _her_. Do we understand each other?"

Harry shook his head. Hermione huffed and mumbled, "Fine then. Tell me about the Second Task."

Harry repeated what Fleur had told her and to his relief, he could see the glint in Hermione's eyes that she usually got when she was faced with an exciting challenge.

Eventually, after a moment's silence, she gave him a level stare and said, "Fine. For now, I'll drop the… other topic, but _only_ because we need to focus on the Second Task. But I don't want you to meet her any more, Harry. _Please_."

Harry squirmed as he was reminded of Lily and his guilt came rushing back but he brushed it away immediately and shrugged – this was not the time. However, Hermione seemed keen to see him drown in repentance as she proceeded to glare at him, even when he suggested they visit the library.

"Lily," Narcissa said drily, as her path to her son's dorm was obstructed by the woman she was addressing, "This is a pleasant surprise."

"Shut _up_ ," Lily said, her face colouring, "And I'm actually here to tell you to go _fuck_ yourself."

"Message received," Narcissa said, in the same dry voice, "May I go now?"

"I…" Lily said, steeling herself, "I want you to _stop_. Whatever it is you're doing to him, I want you to _stop_."

"And why would I even want to listen to you?" Narcissa asked nonchalantly, refusing to be baited, "And why don't you ask _Harry_ to stop seeing me?"

Lily grit her teeth and ground out, "I have no idea what sort of enchantment you've put him under, you horrid _bitch_ , but I want you to _stop_ it. Call it off."

"Again, I have no idea _why_ I would do that," Narcissa said, exasperated, "You don't see me asking you to stop seeing him."

"I'm his _mother_ ," Lily said.

"A _mother_?" Narcissa said incredulously, her own temper making itself known, "Don't make me laugh. There isn't a single caring mother on earth who'd commit the same… atrocity… you have perpetrated. You do _not_ want to loosen my tongue here, you perverse little whore."

"I want you to stop seeing him," Lily said, ignoring Narcissa's words in their entirety, "I don't know what sick pleasure you get out of this, but I want you to _stop_. I don't want you to hurt him."

"Hurt him?" Narcissa asked softly, raising a slender eyebrow, "I have no intention of hurting Harry." She took a step closer to Lily, who tensed immediately, and whispered, "I have no intention of _leaving_ him either. Because I…"

"Don't," Lily snarled, "Don't you _dare_ say it. Don't. You. Dare."

Narcissa drew away, and throwing the redhead a contemptuous smirk, shoved past Lily and continued to her classroom, leaving Lily fuming in her wake.

"So, folks," Fred asked brightly as the Weasley twins arrived in the library an hour before dinner, "Where's the fire?"

"Or rather, where shall we _start_ the fire?" George asked, throwing the books around him a disgusted glance.

"Sorry," Harry said quickly, "I really didn't want to bother you guys, but…"

"We need your help with… stuff," Ginny interjected.

Fred and George grinned at Harry. "Name it, oh great Boy-Who-Got-Fisted."

Harry groaned. "Really, guys?" he asked. Their grins just became wider and Harry cursed himself for betraying his exasperation – now they'd _never_ let that nickname rest.

The twins took a seat at the table Harry, Hermione, Ginny and Luna were clustered around, making themselves comfortable.

"Neville will join us in a minute," Hermione said primly, "But in the meantime, we're all gathered here to help Harry succeed in the Second Task."

"Really?" Fred asked, perking up, "You know what it's about?"

Before Harry could formulate an answer, Ginny interjected snidely, "The floozy told him."

Fred gaped at him and George asked, "Fleur? _Fleur_ told you – her competition – about the Second Task?"

"I _knew_ there was something there when she sat down at our table for breakfast," Fred said, grinning at him in approval, "Harry, you sly old dog."

"Look, Fleur did tell me about it," Harry said, exasperated, "But no. There's nothing between us."

"Yet," Hermione finished in a low voice, making Ginny scowl at her. The twins, however, winked at Harry, who sighed.

"Anyway," Harry said, trying to bring them all back to the original discussion as soon as possible, "The other champions basically received a set of runic puzzles that they had to solve and compile to find out more about the second task. Eventually, after much hard work, I believe they arrived at a sentence – _Deprived of your power, magical, you shall tremble at the wrath of Boreas, and his titans old_."

A short silence followed. "Who's Boreas?" Fred asked, appearing entirely confused.

Hermione replied, "An ancient Greek deity who was once believed responsible for the winds that brought winter to Southern Europe."

"So Fleur thinks the Second Task is going to revolve around the winter theme," Harry added.

"Because the floozy is _always_ right," Ginny muttered darkly.

Fred and George looked at their sister curiously, then shrugged. "So," George said, "The second task is going to involve all of the stuff that makes up a standard Grecian winter?"

"Cool weather, beaches and a bit of snow?" Fred asked.

Harry grinned. "Not quite," he said, "I'd say it's more like a Scottish winter."

"So," George said, stroking his chin, "Bagpipes, cries of 'Wonderful weather isnae it' and men trembling in their kilts?"

"Right," Harry said, unable to keep from breaking out into a smile, "Because that's totally what Scottish winters are all about."

"See," Fred pointed out, "If you'd said _Arctic_ winter, we might have guessed a flurry of snow, temperatures that'll make you quake in your boots and lots of yeti, but you said _Scottish_."

Harry laughed. "I doubt there'll be yeti," he said and then gulped, "At least, I hope not."

"I don't think yeti would consent to being part of a human ritual," Hermione said, frowning, "And I'd hate to think that the magical world would endanger sentient creatures for their own amusement."

"Right," Harry said crisply, "But to be honest, I was thinking more about _my_ safety than the yeti's."

"Also," Hermione said, still looking slightly disturbed at the possibility of a magical creature being involved, "We think the 'deprived of your power' line means that all champions shall be deprived of their wands during the task."

"So," Fred asked, "What _can_ you take to the task?"

"I asked McGonagall," Harry responded, "I didn't quite tell her I came to know about the Second Task – just asked her if there was any limit on the resources I could use for preparation… though I'm pretty sure she still found that suspicious. She basically told me that whatever raw ingredients I need would have to cost under one hundred galleons, or else they'd disqualify me from the Second Task as well."

George whistled. "One hundred galleons? Out of your own pocket?" he asked.

"No, no," Harry assured them, "The school's footing the bill."

They sighed in relief.

"And when can you go buy whatever stuff you need?" Fred asked.

"Don't quite know," Harry said, "But she did sort of… maybe… imply that I could go whenever I want, as long as I secure permission and have an escort."

The twins looked at each other for a moment, before they nodded and turned back to face Harry's group.

"Right," Fred said, "We'd have to go and think about this one. But off the top of our heads, we can't really come up with anything."

"To be fair," George said, "You might be asking the wrong people. Our specialty is more along the lines of self-transfiguration potions and mind-altering creams. So unless you want us to turn Harry into a budgerigar in the middle of the Second Task…"

"Will turning me into a budgie help me deal with the cold?" Harry asked eagerly.

"No," Fred said.

"Then what good would turning into a budgerigar do?" Harry asked grumpily.

"None at all," George said.

"Except for the great laughs you'll afford us all," Fred supplied.

"Because that's totally what I'm looking for – to be laughed at even _more_ ," Harry retorted.

"Touchy, touchy," Fred said with a grin.

"Actually," Hermione said, "We've decided that the magic that we _do_ know, as fourth years, is insufficient for this task. And I don't think they'll allow Harry to cast an overpowered charm on himself _just_ before the task either – especially not if the purpose of the task is to explore the wandless talents the contestants possess."

"And we've done a lot of research," Harry said blearily, "From what we've seen though, there aren't really many potions that can help us withstand _cold_. And creating a _new_ potion… well… I'm not exactly a potions prodigy."

"Hermione is," George said.

"Yes," Harry agreed, as Hermione blushed and tried stammer out a denial. He continued, "But that's not the point. I… I guess I want… I guess I just want to make up for the first task. I'd like you guys to help me… but I want to do the main preparation _myself_."

The twins grinned at him. "Fair enough," Fred said.

"So, Potions is the one wandless art we're familiar with," Hermione said, "But that's out. Harry, however, seems to be _really_ interested in enchanting – we've been doing a lot of reading on the subject… and Ginny suggested you two.

"So, at the end of the day, we're far more interested in how you two manage to imbue your potions and creams with magic. I get the basics of the whole anchoring-a-spell-to-some-object thing, but the fact of the matter is – you two know how to _enchant_ potions, and that's something the rest of us know nothing about."

"Anchoring?" Fred said, "That's not all that hard."

George winked at them. "Don't worry about it," he said, "Enchanting is pretty interesting once you get the hang of it. Again, we're no arithmancers, but we know enough runes to get by."

"So you'd be willing to teach us?" Harry asked.

Fred glanced at the heavy book lying in front of them – _An Advanced Guide on the Enchanting Arts_ – and winced.

"Sure," he said nonchalantly. He then smirked at Hermione and said in a shrewd voice, "I think I know what you folks are getting at."

"Thanks!" Harry said enthusiastically, "We owe you one."

The twins grinned in a fashion that made Harry distinctly uncomfortable.

"That you do," George said, evil grin still plastered onto his face.

Barely a minute into their first 'class' with the twins the very next morning, Harry and Hermione were beginning to realize that perhaps, asking the twins for help might have been an entirely ludicrous idea.

"So, folks, welcome to your first class on Enchanting!" Fred proclaimed in a grandiose manner. Then he scrunched up his nose in disgust and said, "Come to think of it, I never thought we'd be taking a class on this subject."

"Wait," George stage-whispered to Fred, "This… this doesn't make us adjunct _Professors_ , does it?"

Both the twins shuddered comically. Hermione gave a frustrated growl and snapped her fingers. "Come _on_ ," she said.

"Right, right," Fred said, shaking his head, his eyes still wide with horror at the prospect of being labelled a teacher, "On with the… class. Oh no."

"Let's call it a _seminar_ ," George said, "Seminars are good, right?"

"Oh yeah, seminars are all right," Fred agreed. Harry palmed his face.

"Right, so… enchanting," Fred tried again, "Right… wait, I have an idea. Why don't _you_ ask us questions…?"

"Bad idea," Harry interjected pointing to Hermione.

"… And we'll answer all the questions you have on enchanting!" George finished.

Harry sighed, pointed at a ramrod-straight Hermione jumping up and down in her chair with her arm upraised and said, "Yup, still a bad idea."

The twins looked nonplussed. "Okay," Fred said slowly, staring at Hermione who was practically bouncing in her seat with her arm up, "Maybe that's not such a good idea."

"Told you so," Harry said as a very disappointed-looking Hermione lowered her hand and glared at him.

"Anyway, so… enchanting," Fred started again.

"Been there, done that," George said.

"Wait, wait, I have an idea," Fred said. He flicked his wand and a stuffed rabbit came zooming into his hand.

"Of course," George said, giving Fred a pat on his back, "Show and tell! Why didn't I think of that?"

"Wait," Hermione said, staring at the toy rabbit, "Er… isn't that Ginny's favourite stuffed toy?"

"Details, details," Fred said, waving the rabbit at them, "For now, it's our… test anchor."

Hermione still looked very reluctant to go ahead with the lesson, so Harry took over. "Test anchor?" he asked curiously.

"Yes," George said, grabbing the rabbit and shaking it at them, its ears flopping around, "The difference between simply casting a spell on an object and _enchanting_ an object is the _anchor_."

"Right," Fred said, as George started punching the rabbit for some strange reason, "Spell-casting usually involves _two_ entities – the caster, who casts the spell, and the object, which is _affected_ by the spell. On the other hand, _enchanting_ involves three, or _more_ , entities: the enchanter, who's basically like the caster, the anchor – the enchanted entity – and the object – which is the target _of_ the enchantment."

"For instance," George said, showing them the beaten up rabbit, "This devious little creature…"

"It's a _toy_ ," Hermione said, staring at Ginny's favourite toy.

"This devious little creature," George insisted, "Shall be our _anchor_ – the entity that you two shall attempt to enchant. Now, does either of you happen to own a small piece of cloth?"

Hermione dipped her hand into a sleeve and pulled out a handkerchief. "Will this do?" she asked tentatively.

"That'll do fine!" Fred said, grabbing the napkin, "And don't worry, we won't do anything to it… er… we hope."

Hermione did not look relieved.

"So," George said again, shaking the rabbit at them, "Your task, budding enchanters, is to enchant this _anchor_ – this devious little rabbit – so that it summons _this_ napkin to itself, when _one_ of you touches it."

Hermione nudged Harry, who sighed and raised his hand, "I guess I'll try and enchant the rabbit."

"Great!" Fred said, "So, basically, this enchantment has _two_ objects – Hermione and the napkin. When the first object _touches_ the anchor – the rabbit – it shall summon the _second_ object. Are we clear?"

Harry and Hermione nodded.

"Are you two familiar with runic algorithms?" George asked them. Harry and Hermione, who both took Ancient Runes, nodded.

"Good," Fred said, "So your first rune shall _always_ be for the _first_ object that must be affected, and the second rune shall always refer to the action the first object must perform to trigger the enchantment."

"Uh… do I carve them onto the rabbit?" Harry asked.

"Yes," George said, "And stop calling it a rabbit. Call it… _Anchor Wabbit_."

Harry palmed his face again. "Fine," he grumbled, "So… er… I'll carve out the runes on the… Anchor Rabbit."

"Wabbit," Fred said.

Harry grunted irritably and mumbled, "Wabbit." Hermione giggled and the twins beamed at him.

"Anyway," Fred said, "The tricky part is carving out a rune that _specifically_ responds to the first object – Hermione. Because there really isn't a rune for proper nouns, you'd have to _create_ a rune – which involves all sorts of complicated Arithmancy - or associate an existing rune with her."

"And we all know there isn't a rune for Know-It-All," George said sadly. Hermione glared at him immediately.

"Maybe there's a rune for bramble-head?" Fred asked.

"Or you could try the rune for Squirrel Girl," George said.

"Budding librarian?" Fred tried.

"Budding McGonagall?" George said.

"Maybe there's a rune for _if-you-don't-shut-up-I-will-punch-you-in-the-face_ ," Hermione muttered.

"Right, right," Fred said quickly, "Shutting up now."

"To be fair," George said, "I'd go for something more general now, like 'girl'. I mean, Hermione's the only girl in the room now, so we can just go with that."

Harry nodded. He obediently carved out the rune for girl on the rabbit's left paw.

"Try and make the rune smaller next time," Fred said, examining his work, "Unless you want everyone to know this anchor is enchanted."

"What's next?" Harry asked.

"You carve out the rune for the _action_ the first object shall perform to trigger the enchantment," George said.

Harry carved out the rune for _touch_.

"Excellent," Fred said with a grin, "You're getting the hang of this already!"

"And now, the second object?" Harry asked tentatively.

"Yes," George agreed, holding up Hermione's handkerchief, "Again, this is tricky. If you say something generic, like _cloth_ , the anchor shall try to act on every single piece of cloth in the room, overloading its capacity… and then it'll probably explode."

Harry suddenly grew very alarmed.

Hermione, however, smiled. "So," she asked, "Every anchor has an innate capacity to carry magic?"

Fred nodded. "Yes," he said, pointing at the rabbit, "Anchor Wabbit here isn't really capable of great feats of magic – it's just a stuffed toy. Try and make it do too much, and it'll result in a magical backlash – which is why the choice of anchors is so crucial to enchanting."

"Moreover," George added, "Anchor Wabbit won't be capable of _sustaining_ its enchantment for long. Because after Harry finishes his runic algorithm, he shall _imbue_ the runes with magic… something I hope you newbies are familiar with."

"We are," Hermione said and Harry nodded. They had practiced imbuing simple runes with magic before – it basically involved _pushing_ with one's magic at a set of runes to activate them.

"Right," Fred said, "So when Harry imbues Anchor Wabbit with magic, it won't be able to hold _on_ to that magic for long. That's the problem with most enchanted objects - their magic wears off extremely quickly if they're not capable of _sustaining_ magic."

"So, Harry," George said, pointing at the rabbit again, "Proceed with your rune-carving. Carve out a rune that is relevant to this napkin, but also specific enough to _avoid_ any object that is not the napkin."

Harry thought for a moment, and then carved out the rune for _small cloth_ onto the rabbit's paw, right after the previous rune for _touch_.

"Not quite specific enough," Fred said, "Because that could mean _any_ small cloth."

"But you can still correct that," George said, "Just put the rune for _girl_ above _small cloth_."

Harry obeyed immediately, and looked at the resulting rune. It said, ' _girl's small cloth_.'

"And then, the action you want the anchor to perform on the second object," Fred said.

Harry carved out the rune for _Accio_ , the Summoning Charm. He then pointed his wand at the set of small runes he had just carved out and pushed with his magic while visualizing the entire sequence of desired events in his head – Hermione touching the anchor, followed by the anchor summoning her napkin to itself. The runes – that now read _girl, touch, girl's small cloth, summon_ \- glowed a faint green.

"Nice," George said appreciatively. He then gestured to Hermione.

"Are you guys sure this is safe?" Hermione asked, staring at the rabbit like it was going to come alive.

"Maybe?" Fred said nonchalantly, "But Pomfrey's a great medi-witch, so _relax_ , Hermione."

"Why did I ever think you two would make good teachers?" Hermione asked incredulously. She then bit her lower lip, extended her forefinger and _touched_ the rabbit.

For a single instant, Harry smiled in triumph as he thought he had succeeded; Hermione's napkin flew over to the rabbit as soon as she had touched it.

But then, to his immense horror, Hermione yelped as she was jerked onto her back; her legs split open and out flew…

"PANTIES!" Fred yelled and ducked under the flying piece of cloth, so that it slapped onto the rabbit.

The twins looked at each other, then glanced at Hermione, who was still lying on her back in shock, and then looked at each other again.

"Right," George said quickly, "Class dismissed." The twins then proceeded to _sprint_ out of the room.

"Er…" Harry said, wondering if he should follow the twins.

And that was when Hermione got up and started punching his bicep.

"Ow, ow!" he cried, frantically backing away, "I didn't see anything! I swear!"

"Shut. Up," Hermione said, punctuating each word with a blow, "And. Don't. Ever. Tell. _Anyone_. About. This."

"You seem a bit… grumpy," Neville said to a very miffed-looking Ginny as they had lunch in the kitchens, courtesy of the Hogwarts elves.

"It's nothing," she said, "It's just… some idiot thought it'd be a great idea to smuggle one of my personal items into the Common Room."

"What personal item?" Neville asked curiously, as Harry tried to hide his smile and Hermione squirmed.

"Just a little something," Ginny said, frowning, "I found it anyway, but someone decided to carve out runes on its left paw, and it smells really, really funny."

Hermione squeaked.

"Do you know who did it?" Neville asked.

"Not a clue," Ginny said, "I think it's Demelza. Or maybe Vane. But when I find out, _someone_ is going to pay."

"So," Fred whispered to Harry, "Is Hermione still on the warpath about yesterday? Because we totally did not do that on purpose."

"If you're worried about reprisal, don't be," Harry said, "But if you're worried she thinks you two are guilty… I think she's going to suspect you two forever."

Fred looked a bit taken aback. "Have you ever known us _not_ to take credit for a prank?" he asked incredulously.

"That is a point in your favour," Harry conceded, "But I think that particular point would be negated by the fact that you haven't yet told your own sister about our experiment with her toy."

Fred snickered. "It _was_ pretty funny though," he said in a low voice.

Harry had to smile. "It was," he said, though he did feel a little guilty too.

Hermione glared at the pair of them.

"I'm _starving_ ," George said, quite loudly, "Where _is_ dinner, really?"

"Where it always is, George," Hermione said snidely, "In the kitchens, until it is _summoned_ here by the Headmaster. Which should be ten minutes from now."

"Distraction didn't work, then?" Fred asked wryly.

"No, it didn't," Hermione muttered.

"What are you guys talking about?" Ginny asked irritably.

"Nothing," the twins and Hermione said at once, making Ginny stare at them suspiciously.

Lily pulled him aside as soon as he had left the kitchens after lunch, much to his friends' surprise, though they all shrugged their shoulders and went on without him, save for Hermione, who _really_ looked like she wanted to ask Lily something. But Lily motioned to the bushy-haired girl and Hermione followed the rest of the Gryffindors to their dorm.

"Don't," Lily said as soon as Harry opened his mouth, "Don't apologize. There's a lot of that to go around, and I _know_ you're sorry. And now… that I think about it, there's a lot _I_ have to apologize for as well. But I called you aside specifically because I have some troubling news."

Lily then inhaled deeply and said, "I… I have to leave immediately – I've received an important mission, of sorts, from Albus, and it's one I simply have to complete."

"Mission?" Harry asked, his concern making itself known even through his guilt at seeing Lily, "Are you going alone?"

Lily smiled. "See," she said, "This is exactly why I find it so hard to dump you on your arse. But no, I'm not going alone. Minerva and Filius are coming with me – in the meantime, Albus shall still be here, so I don't expect you all to fend for yourselves."

Harry, who had been struck by Lily's first sentence, found himself struggling to keep up with the rest of what she was saying.

"Can you talk about this mission?" he asked.

Lily looked troubled. "I _want_ to," she said, grimacing, "But I can't. Not now – there's barely any time. But after I come back, I _promise_ we'll talk. About this mission… and about other, _far_ more important things. Just… don't do anything stupid, alright? Please?"

Harry shrugged at her and felt a lump form in his throat. "I… I'll miss you," he sighed.

Lily still looked troubled. "Is…," she asked, and then shook her head as if she was wondering if her question was even worth asking. Steeling herself, she continued, "Is… _she_ … staying?"

Harry winced. He knew exactly who Lily meant. "No," he said in a small voice, "She's going home to her family. And… I think she's going tonight."

Lily mouthed the words 'her family' and then gave him an incredulous glance. "There's _so_ many things I want to say," she growled to him, "But they shall remain unsaid for now. Just… don't accept any invitations to Malfoy Manor in the meantime, hmm? But after I come back, we _are_ going to sit down, and… and we're going to talk about this entire thing."

Harry nodded mutely. There wasn't much he _could_ say.

"And there's so much more you _have_ to know," Lily said uncertainly, but then sighed and said no more.

Instead, she nodded, pulled her cloak tighter around herself, gave him a light kiss on the lips and left the deserted corridor, leaving Harry rubbing the spot where her lips had touched his.

Narcissa stepped out of her office, only to be greeted with the sight of a very determined looking Hermione Granger.

"Miss Granger?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at the muggleborn girl, "If this is about a Defence query, I'm afraid I have to leave in half-an-hour. I'm going home for the few days of vacation left, I'm afraid."

"That's alright, Professor," Hermione said stiffly, "I'm not here to talk about a Defence query."

Something about Hermione's voice put Narcissa on edge. She immediately invited the girl into the classroom and motioned to the seat in front of her table, while she took the chair behind the same table.

"Now," Narcissa asked, "What did you want to discuss?"

Hermione seemed to steel herself, stiffening in her chair. The girl looked right at Narcissa and said, in a voice that quivered with both anger and desperation, "I want you to leave Harry alone."

For a moment, Narcissa was taken aback by the girl's statement – blood seemed to rush to her face, even as Hermione glared at her. But the next moment, the events that had occurred the day before clicked into place. Narcissa immediately whipped her wand out. Hermione flinched, but Narcissa calmly pointed her wand at the door and cast a series of privacy wards.

"You," Narcissa breathed after she had pocketed her wand, " _You_ were the one that told Lily."

"I was the informant," Hermione agreed, "But _you_ were the perpetrator… _Professor_."

Hermione spat out the last word. Narcissa merely folded her hands and gestured to Hermione to continue.

"How _could_ you?" Hermione spluttered, "That… with _Harry_. You… you took advantage of your position over him, you… you… you're _married_! You have a son his age! How… what…?"

"Why?" Narcissa completed stiffly. She then said, "The age of consent in our world, as you must be aware…"

"Is _fourteen_ ," Hermione said crossly, "I know. But that's not the point. Fraternization is against the rules of this school… or _any_ educational institution, especially between faculty and students!"

"You assume that our relationship started _at_ Hogwarts," Narcissa said mildly.

Hermione's eyes lit up. " _You_ were the one… the summer affair he had… that was with _you_!" she snarled.

"Guilty as charged," Narcissa said, shrugging her shoulders elegantly.

"What… what are you _doing_ with him?" Hermione asked furiously, "What _is_ he to you?"

Narcissa exhaled sharply and drew out her wand again, fingering it delicately.

"The only reason I haven't pointed my wand at you and chanted, _Obliviate_ ," Narcissa grit out, "Is because you command my respect as _Harry's_ best friend. Were you merely an acquaintance of his, notwithstanding the fact that you wouldn't show this much concern for him if that were the case, I would already have cast multiple spells upon you, making absolutely sure that you would never remember… whatever you saw… even at risk of reducing you to a drooling puddle, much like Gilderoy Lockhart."

Hermione looked alarmed.

"But," Narcissa continued, "The concern that you show for Harry makes me resist that first impulse."

"And…" Hermione retorted hotly, "Your… _generosity_ … is supposed to make me reluctant to follow _my_ first impulse – to go to Dumbledore and spill the beans?"

"You did… spill the beans to Lily," Narcissa said, "Why do you think _she_ has not told Albus yet?"

Hermione looked nonplussed at that particular statement.

"I'm sure she will," Hermione said.

"And I'm sure she _won't_ ," Narcissa responded calmly.

"Why not?" Hermione asked.

Narcissa leaned forward in her chair, her blue eyes staring into Hermione's brown. "That," she said, "Is the right question, Miss Granger."

"What is _that_ supposed to mean?" Hermione asked.

"Let me make this perfectly clear," Narcissa said, and her voice turned menacing effortlessly and abruptly, "I am _not_ what one would call a _kind_ woman, as you have no doubt determined yourself. I am not Lily Potter. Lily may sit at her desk and listen to you drone on and on about affairs that are _none_ of your business, but I am _not_ Lily. I'm Narcissa _Black_ , and you'd do well to remember that. What is between Harry and I, is between Harry and I. If _he_ decides to tell you, it is none of my business, but I will not, of my own volition, indulge your impertinent, self-righteous enquiries anymore.

"Are we clear?"

Hermione merely glared at Narcissa, her chest heaving in both fear and anger.

"Are we _clear_ , Miss Granger?" Narcissa asked again, even as her magic unspooled and the books on her desk started vibrating, much to Hermione's dismay.

Hermione got up stiffly and walked to the door.

"Hermione," Narcissa called in a soft voice, just as the door opened. "For what it's worth," she said, "I'm glad Harry has a friend as loyal as yourself."

Hermione turned around, her eyes glistening with unshed tears – born of supressed rage as well as chastisement at the hands of a teacher – and glared for a moment, before she marched out of the classroom, slamming the door behind her.

Harry had barely opened the doors to the Great Hall in the evening, shortly after his mother had bid him goodbye in so abrupt a fashion, intending to ask Hagrid to accompany him to Hogsmeade, when he heard another set of footsteps descending down the stairs. He heaved open the doors anyway, but was forced to pause when he saw none other than Narcissa arrive in the Entrance Hall.

They stared at each other for a moment, before she broke out into a smile, though he did notice her wand flick up to cast a privacy charm she was fond of using.

"So," she asked, her voice teasing, "Are you planning to avoid me for the foreseeable future?"

"Not quite," Harry said, rubbing the back of his neck.

Narcissa's smile grew more pronounced. "And was…. Did _she_ approve of that?" she asked.

Harry sighed. "If you mean my mother," he said, "No. No, she did not."

"And you'd see me in spite of her objections?" Narcissa asked lightly.

"I shall," Harry said firmly.

Narcissa smirked. "Good," she said, and then frowned. "But," she stated, "I believe I'd object to your use of a certain… maternal… label in her case. What she's done… what you _both_ have done… barely even imply a maternal relationship."

"I suppose," Harry said uncertainly, "And… I really _am_ sorry…"

"Don't," Narcissa said, "I'm over it now – strangely enough, the fact that it was _Lily_ smarts… but at the same time, it's strangely gratifying… and that's something I still have to sort out. However, there is a _lot_ I believe we shall need to discuss in the future, but I'm afraid that shall have to wait for next year. For now, I'm trapped by circumstance and familial affection."

"I understand," Harry said quietly, repeating his words to Lily, though his sincerity was no less now than it was then, "I'll miss you."

"And I'll miss you as well, love," Narcissa whispered drawing up to him, her face flushing. "But once I'm back… we'll… we _need_ to talk."

"We will," Harry said with a nod.

Narcissa nodded to him, looked warily at the portraits that lined the Entrance Hall, and rubbed her fingers against the skin of his knuckles. Then, she exited through the door he had held open for her and vanished into the snow falling fast and free outside the castle. Harry stared after her disappearing back for a moment, before he smiled at the thought of seeing her again next year. Then, after he heard the crack of her disapparition near the Hogwarts gates, he exited the Great Hall, deciding that the snow was light enough for him to go to Hogsmeade in the company of Rubeus Hagrid.


	19. Interlude: Enchanting for Dummies

Interlude: An Extract from Enchanting for Dummies

 _ **Extract, from the Introduction to Enchanting for Dummies, by Pierre Chevalier**_

 _Often, wizards and witches of a certain curious disposition tend to ask me several questions about a field of knowledge I take great pride in being familiar with. Questions such as: can an enchantment entail two trigger events instead of one? Or questions such as, 'what would I do if I wanted an anchor to loop a specific series of actions, over and over'?_

 _These questions arise, in my opinion, because of the lack of emphasis on the more arcane arts in our world, and more importantly, in our school curricula. Of course there can be two trigger events. Of course, an anchor may be enchanted in a manner that makes it trigger its object effects only after several events have occurred. It's as simple as adding a number rune before the usual runic sequence for trigger events. For instance, if I carve out the rune for 'two' followed by the rune for 'touch' and the rune for 'breath', the eventual runic algorithm would imply that the anchor should only trigger after a person has both touched and sniffed the anchor, or rather, that the anchor should wait for two trigger events as opposed to one – a person touching the anchor, and a person breathing on the anchor, in that sequence._

 _Similarly, if one were to have the anchor affect more than a single object, a similar configuration would work at the effects end, with one significant difference – the number rune would follow the object effects. For example, consider the following runic algorithm –_

 _Two, Touch, Breath, Broomstick, Summon, Pot, Summon_

 _An anchor enchanted with this particular sequence would wait for two trigger events – a person touching the anchor, and a person breathing onto the anchor. It would then attempt to summon a broomstick and a pot at once, which may tax the anchor beyond its magical limit. However, in the case of the following algorithm –_

 _Two, Touch, Breath, Broomstick, Summon, Pot, Summon, Two_

 _\- the anchor would still act in the same manner as far as the trigger events are concerned (touch followed by breath), but it would then strive to summon a broomstick first followed by a pot. Thus, a number rune that follows after an entire runic sequence shall direct the anchor so that it enacts its desired effects one after the other._

 _However, and I take no pleasure in straining the reader's brain, but I shall overestimate the reader's ability and attempt this anyway, let us consider a different runic algorithm –_

 _Two, Touch, Breath, Broomstick, Summon, Pot, Summon, Two, Repeat_

 _The 'repeat' rune shall direct the anchor such that it keeps summoning a broomstick, then a pot, over and over until its magic is exhausted. Thus, items that are enchanted with a 'repeat' rune after an entire runic sequence shall try and affect its target objects over and over, looping infinitely until it overloads itself._

 _Of course, this does not necessarily mean that a mere hobbyist shall, in time, become a master enchanter – it isn't that simple. There's a reason Arithmancy is considered so vital to the process of enchanting, especially in terms of the anchor that one may select, so that the desired runic combination sustains itself for a set period of time. For instance, if one wanted to enchant, say, a metal spoon so that it creates fire whenever a person touches it, the spoon definitely would not be able to sustain such magic – one can only squeeze so much magic into a metal spoon, which would sooner explode than actually create fire._

 _However, if one knew the arithmantic equation for a spell that brings about magical fire, and divined the arithmantic equation for a metal spoon, using Flamel's Method, one shall be able to divine how much magic the spoon may hold and how much magic one's desired runic algorithm shall use. The ratio of the two – an anchor's magical capacity, divided by the magical efficiency of a runic algorithm – is a vital quantity in the art of enchanting, for it is ultimately used to derive the famous Flamel's coefficient – an anchor's magical efficiency per unit time – which is a term frequently used by enchanters of some repute._

 _Of course, there is a much less safe way of enchanting – the way of experimentation. However, enchanting, when accompanied by complacency in the field of Arithmancy, often leads to explosions in the face, singing of vital body parts and usually, bedrest. So be warned, if you're not familiar with Arithmancy, and have no desire to pick it up, it is best to stay far, far away from the field of Enchanting, unless your body parts do not seem so vital, in which case, feel free to experiment!_

 _Now, I shall change tracks ever so slightly to delve into the usual magical arts – ones that involve a fair bit of wand-waving and incanting. But before we delve into that, I find myself reluctant to continue without pointing out one fact that may be startling to some of you – wands are enchanted anchors. A wand is nothing more than a powerfully enchanted anchor that is capable of acting on whatever rune its user carves out into the air… an open-ended anchor, as it were._

 _However, back to the magical arts – here, I would like the reader to perform a little, unobtrusive little experiment. Look at an object that is not far away from you – an object that is light and not likely to cause harm were it flying through the air – and attempt to summon it to yourself._

 _As you may have noticed, the Accio spell that you just performed involved a series of wand motions; wand motions that amount to carving a rune into thin air (the rune for 'Accio', if that was not obvious already). However, it is important to note that the rune is only a medium of magic – it affects the Nexus in a very specific manner; in essence, what you did when you carved the rune for 'Accio' into thin air is perturb the Nexus in a manner such that it summons a desired object towards yourself._

 _However, and this may be another startling fact – certain magicals are capable of performing the Accio spell without carving a rune into thin air. Such magicals instinctively channel the Nexus in the same manner that the rune does._

 _And how is that possible? And if that is possible, why bother learning wand motions at all? There is no simple way of explaining how or why – for there isn't a particular analogy I can avail myself of. All I can say is this – the physiology of magicals is significantly different from the physiology of non-magicals._

 _Magicals have an ability to subconsciously sense the manner in which the Nexus flows around them when they cast a spell. A magical who has performed a certain spell long enough and perfectly enough can sense this flow of the Nexus, and then command the Nexus to act the same way in a manner that is not conscious, but instinctive._

 _Dragons, for example, do not carve runes into thin air – not even with their internal organs – to create fire. They just do, because channelling the Nexus in such a manner that it creates fire is absolutely instinctive to a dragon. Wizards and witches, once they develop an instinctive (again, note my repeated use of the term instinctive – it is not a conscious process) knack for the flow of the Nexus around them during a certain spell, they may just flick their wands and cast a spell, instead of resorting to relatively elaborate wand movements and incantations._

 _Ultimately, the Nexus obeys runes. A wizard or a witch simply cannot sense the Nexus around them when performing a spell for the first time; they have to command the Nexus to obey them, and this can happen only through runes, visualization and focus, rather than will alone. However, once a magical develops a knack, a subconscious feel of how the Nexus flows after carving out a rune into mid-air, he or she may just affect the Nexus in the same way that a rune does, but by instinct rather than conscious design._

 _However, do not overestimate instinctive magic – it requires practice, natural talent and a powerful affinity for the Nexus, especially for the more complex and taxing spells._

 _Similarly, after a lot of practice and years of enchanting, certain enchanters may develop a subconscious feel of how an enchantment affects an anchor and channels magic (or the Nexus) around an anchor to achieve certain desired effects on the target objects. At this stage, enchanters may find themselves capable of simply casting enchantments on anchors without resorting to runic algorithms – and such enchantments, depending, of course, on the anchor's Flamel coefficient, may be permanent._

 _And such enchanted anchors – anchors whose enchantments do not have a shelf life – are called cursed. For this is how curses are born – through primal instinct rather than conscious design._


	20. Winter Tales, Part 1

**Winter Tales, Part 1: New Years Eve**

Harry sighed in relief as they took shelter inside a small, but highly specialized store in Hogsmeade. The snow that had started as a light shower had soon turned fast and furious.

"Tha' was a mighty big blizzard!" Hagrid exclaimed, staring at the flurry of snow and wind outside.

"Or just Scottish snowfall," Harry said ruefully, "Either way, blizzard or not, I'm glad you're in good spirits, Hagrid."

"I told yeh," Hagrid said, "Albus told me all about how yeh've faced all the articles tha' reporter wrote about yeh. How yeh stood up to them and faced them all bravely."

"Well," Harry said, flushing, "It didn't seem like _that_ much of an uphill struggle."

"And tha's what makes yeh a great wizard, Harry," Hagrid said, "And if yeh haven't let a barrage of articles scare yeh, I won't let _one_ article scare me int'er hiding."

"'Course you won't," Harry agreed, "And I'm glad that's the case."

"But…" Hagrid said timidly, "Does… does it bother yeh? That I'm a half-giant?"

Harry laughed. "Does it bother you that I'm a half-blood?" he asked. Hagrid merely smiled and nodded, just as the proprietor of the shop entered their field of view. Harry was a bit taken aback – the wood-panelled shelves filled with various potion ingredients and other magical raw materials simply did not fit the profile of a shopkeeper who looked like the man in front of him did. For the man was tall, dark-skinned and extremely handsome.

"Mister Patil?" Harry ventured.

The man nodded. "Harry Potter," he said, his eyes flicking up in a very familiar motion towards Harry's forehead, "Ah, yes, my daughter did tell me to expect you."

Harry gave the man a tentative smile. He had asked around his dorm to see if any of his dorm-mates were aware of specialty shops that sold rare magical items and Parvati had immediately suggested her family business, which, inevitably, led to Harry venturing into this brightly lit shop in Hogsmeade in the middle of a blizzard; according to Parvati, this would be the last day the shop would remain open for the year.

"Yes," he said, as Hagrid tried to sit down on a bench that barely accommodated his bulk, "Well, I was actually wondering if you sold any anchors in this shop."

The man raised his eyebrows at Harry. "Dabbling in enchanting, are we, Mister Potter?" he asked. Harry noticed Hagrid look curiously at him out of the corner of his eye.

"I suppose," Harry said, "But this isn't… merely a matter of personal interest. It's a bit more… official than that."

"Of course," the man said graciously, "I _do_ have a few great items that could serve as anchors… but I have to ask – how much are you willing to spend?"

"My budget is around seventy galleons," Harry said. After much deliberation with Hermione, he had set aside thirty galleons of his budget as a buffer amount.

"I see," the man said, "And… if I were to guess, you wouldn't need this enchanted item – whatever it is you plan to create – to last beyond the duration of your… official business?"

"Not at all," Harry said.

"But you would need a powerful anchor, wouldn't you?" the man asked, "A short-lived one, but one capable of sustaining a fair amount of magic?"

"I… guess?" Harry ventured. He had arrived at a preliminary runic configuration he could use for the task, but it still needed a lot of tweaking. Nonetheless, much like Fred and George, he was no arithmancer and he could not estimate, with much accuracy, how _much_ magic he would need.

"If you're looking for a Flamel's coefficient," Harry said, referring to the famous alchemist's measure for how much magic a standard anchor could sustain for a given duration of time, "I'm afraid Arithmancy isn't my strong suit… but something that can hold… er… a conjuration, of sorts, for around half-an-hour, or an hour tops, would do just fine."

The man's eyebrows crinkled. "For the price you quoted," he said, "There are very few items capable of sustaining that sort of magic. If you're looking to enchant ward-stones, there are several that fit within your budget, but I don't think they'd be able to hold an entire conjuration… not unless you were a Master Enchanter…"

"I'm not," Harry said quickly.

"I wonder…" the man said, rubbing his goatee, "Would you… have you ever considered _gems_? They make for powerful anchors."

"Yes," Harry said, "But I've been told gems are really, _really_ expensive."

"Not the more temperamental ones," the man said, "And there are definitely gems that fall within your specified budget, and which can be used for enchantments that only need to last a while."

"Er… what do you mean by temperamental?" Harry asked.

"I mean," the man said with a shrewd smile, "That the cheaper gems have to be handled with care. If you overload them with more magic than they can sustain… well, let's just say that the conclusion of such an error shall be very, _very_ messy.

"However, before you rule out the use of gems entirely, know this – gems are the most powerful _artificial_ anchors known to us. You simply won't get the same effect with, say, a ward-stone, or wood, or even modern metals. Of course, you could opt for more powerful anchors, like parts of magical creatures, but again, those are _far_ more liable to self-destruct in temperamental fashion. There's a reason there are so few enchanters who dabble with such anchors as basilisk scales and phoenix hearts, Mister Potter."

For a moment, Harry was struck by the thought of the basilisk corpse lying within the bowels of Hogwarts, but he filed that idea away for future use. For now, the man was right – things were far more likely to go wrong with natural anchors. He had read far too many books on enchanting to _not_ know that natural anchors had to be padded with _other_ items in order to render them stable – stuff that he had very little idea about. After all, there was a reason Hogwarts students did not just go around waving enchanted phoenix feathers and unicorn tail hairs to cast magic – the wood, and other potions that went into making a wand served as _padding_ for the natural anchors inside.

"Of course," the man added gently as Harry tried to make up his mind, "I would sincerely advise you to try out whatever runic algorithm you plan to use on other comparable anchors before you begin carving on the gem… if you _do_ decide to purchase a gem, that is."

"Absolutely," Harry agreed. He then thought for a while more, and said, "Could I take a look at your collection of gems?"

Hagrid chuckled behind him and the man smiled as he waved his wand. A little case floated over to Harry, who opened it, only to grow dizzy as he beheld the glow of the precious stones inside.

Narcissa smiled idly at Draco as he dipped his spoon into a delicious looking scoop of ice cream at Fortescue's.

"We should do this more often, Draco," Narcissa said fondly, "It's not often I get to go out with my son by my side."

Draco chuckled. "At least you're not trying to convince me to join boring old Defence classes anymore," he said, gesturing with his spoon.

Narcissa raised a perfect eyebrow, but she could not let this opportunity pass her by with no comment. "And I still stand by that suggestion, Draco," she said sourly, but her son merely huffed and continued to dig into the ice cream.

"Draco," she pleaded, "The use of everyday magic is as important as learning its most arcane applications. I have nothing but respect for your drive to learn more about the more… esoteric forms of magic from Professor Yordanova. But even the most powerful spell is useless if you cannot use it properly."

"Please," Draco scoffed, "I can wield magic just fine. I _am_ a pureblood."

Narcissa stiffened. "The worst atrocity a man can commit is to believe his own propaganda," she said idly.

Draco spluttered. "You… don't believe?" he asked incredulously.

Narcissa opened her mouth to reply, then paused as she considered the implications of her previous statement. A year ago, she may have nodded firmly and replied with a laconic affirmative.

 _Why is it so difficult now?_

She filed that thought away for later examination and narrowed her eyes at her son. "Do not be led astray by false claims, Draco," she persisted, and then held up a hand as Draco tried to protest. "I do not mean to imply that our traditions, our world, our history is utterly dispensable. Nonetheless, have you truly never questioned those beliefs in your years at Hogwarts?"

"I never…" Draco spluttered.

"Truly?" Narcissa asked, though her voice grew soft, almost as if she was speaking to herself, "Not even when you notice how powerful some of the mudbloods are?"

Draco looked bewildered. And deep inside, so was Narcissa.

"I… am not sure I understand, mother," Draco said cautiously.

Narcissa stiffened inconspicuously, but persisted nevertheless, "What do you think of Hermione Granger?"

Draco looked entirely thrown off by the question for a moment, before he schooled his features into a disdainful sneer. "I think _nothing_ of her," he snarled.

Narcissa snapped her fingers irritably. "I am not your father," she said sternly, "You do _not_ take that tone with me. More often than not, you'll notice that facts hold more sway over me than the ramblings of an ideologue."

"I… don't…" Draco spluttered.

"Do you hate her?" Narcissa asked archly.

"She… and people like her," Draco said hesitantly, "Know nothing about us. Our culture. Our rich history. Our problems. Our dreams."

"Our _fears_ ," Narcissa added softly, "No, they don't."

"Which is precisely why mudbloods should never be allowed at Hogwarts!" Draco countered, "They'll never understand true magic!"

"And you do?" Narcissa asked, "Do you truly understand magic, Draco? Do you understand its subtleties, its nuances and its varied forms far better than Granger?"

Draco opened his mouth vehemently, but then closed it abruptly as his arguments failed him.

Narcissa sighed. "This is partly my fault," she said soberly, "Draco, you're a free-willed boy. You can think. You need not constrain yourself to the ideas that your father utters as if they were an airtight dictat."

Draco's face cycled through a variety of emotions – from scandalised to angry – before it finally settled on tentatively curious.

Narcissa leaned forward. "I'm not denying the idea that there needs to be more emphasis on tradition at Hogwarts," Narcissa emphasised, "However, tradition must not constrain us from innovation, from adaptation, from newer ways of thinking.

"Besides, how far are you prepared to go to defend your father's ideology, Draco?"

"What?" Draco asked, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

"You look upon Hermione Granger with disdain," she said, "Were I to give you an untraceable wand and ask you to murder her in cold blood, would you do it?"

Draco glanced around him uneasily, then looked at Narcissa and gulped.

"You did not seem too torn up about it in Second Year, Draco," Narcissa said, her face turning sour, "There was a monster loose in the castle that specifically targeted muggleborns, and from what I can recall, you cheered from the sidelines."

Narcissa leaned back in her chair and looked her son square in the eyes. "That monster is dead now," she said, and she could not help the fact that a note of pride crept into her voice at the thought of her lover vanquishing a basilisk, "Would you be willing to take its place?"

Draco squirmed in his seat and did not look his mother in the eyes.

Narcissa felt her heart break almost immediately at her son's uneasiness. She reached out and clasped his right palm affectionately.

"I'm not saying we cannot cherish our culture, Draco," she said gently, "But we should never be monsters in our quest to preserve its sanctity."

The blonde-haired Malfoy scion finally looked at his mother and tentatively asked, "Has… has father ever… has he…" Draco's voice seemed to fail him.

Narcissa frowned. She always sought to preserve some degree of delicacy when talking about her husband in front of her son, but she found herself unwilling to do so now.

"You'd be better served addressing that question to him, Draco," she said firmly, and added softly, "But, to my knowledge, he has. More than you know."

Draco's eyes widened and he sourly pushed his ice-cream away from him, his appetite crumbling in the face of his mother's implications.

"Is… is the Dark… is _He_ ever coming back?" Draco asked, and Narcissa was surprised at the undercurrent of anxiety in his voice.

She took a deep breath and murmured, "You're finally beginning to ask the right questions, Draco."

Narcissa stared into the distance, berating herself for being so lax with Draco's exposure to his father's repulsive thoughts. And then she wondered why she had decided to poke holes in the false idea of pureblood supremacy that her families – the family she had been born into and the other that she had been bundled off to – had subscribed to for so long.

Something had changed within her, making her feel more alive, more capable, more… _desirable_.

And then, Narcissa noticed a flash of red off to the side of Fortescue's parlour. She turned her head to the side in a second, only to relax as she saw that it wasn't quite the shade of red she had thought it to be – Molly Weasley was standing at the counter, talking to Florean and barely even looking in Narcissa's direction.

Narcissa felt even more uneasy, and her stomach squirmed with hurt – red wasn't a colour she was particularly fond of at the moment. Red _hair_ , more so. Her lips curled downward as she noticed how Molly's hair appeared as luxurious as the other redhead she knew. The other _bitch_.

For a moment, her mind filled with horrible visions of a lean, perfect male body being enveloped by deep blood-red curls…

 _No_.

Narcissa brutally slammed down her Occlumency barriers, though she could not keep her fists from curling in anger and pain.

She would have Harry Potter. He was _hers_. No one else had the right.

Not even his own _whore_ of a mother.

"I understand why we're seeing her, Minerva," Lily said in exasperation as they sat in the veranda of a beautiful mansion on the shores of an azure blue sea, "What I don't understand is why she wasn't consulted earlier. Or why we waited for more than a decade before approaching her."

"Oh," Minerva McGonagall said, "Well, her existence is not quite what I'd call an open secret. Albus has known of her existence for quite a while now, but she remained… elusive. The _Hukumat_ kept her location under tight wraps for over a century."

Lily nodded thoughtfully. The _Hukumat As-sahriyya lidowlul khaleejul a'rabiya_ , or the Government of Magic for the Arab States of the Gulf, had maintained a tight vigil over the movements of one of the few known Seers in the entire world. Once a significant part of the magical population, seers had long since become a rarity, especially over the last century or so.

"So why let her location slip now?" Lily asked curiously.

"Well, it still isn't an open secret," Minerva answered smoothly, "Albus still had to use all of his influence and skill to acquire this information. However, word is that the Seer has… lost her ability."

Lily took a moment to register Minerva's last statement. "What?" she asked, "So… the Seer we're about to meet has… long since lost her powers?"

Minerva nodded. "That's what Albus told me," she said, shrugging her shoulders uncharacteristically, "It has been a decade since Basira Tawfeeq last gave a true prophecy."

"So… why are we even meeting her?" Lily asked, stupefied.

"Because we're not after a new prophecy, Lily," Minerva explained, "We want to interpret an old one."

"How would one Seer know anything about a garbled prophecy another Seer gave?" Lily asked. She then massaged her forehead tiredly and said, "And all this time, I was under the impression that we were going to ask Basira to read my fortune, or something."

Minerva chuckled. "Not quite," she said, "The objective was always to extract an alternative interpretation for the prophecy… or to acquire _some_ interpretation of it that isn't utter nonsense."

"Yeah," Lily said wearily.

"The mistress shall see you now," proclaimed the butler, who had just stepped out of the main hall to greet them, "But please conduct your business swiftly. The mistress is… unwell, and is in no shape for prolonged conversation."

"Fantastic," Lily murmured sarcastically as she and Minerva stepped into the palatial house.

While Harry missed both Narcissa and Lily sorely, he was still thankful for the recent break from their company – which had grown slightly taxing lately, with all the conflict in the air. Nonetheless, he did worry about Lily, who was apparently on a _mission_ – he hoped it wasn't a mission of the dangerous sort – and he felt pity for Narcissa, who, by her own account, was imprisoned in a life she never really wanted, though he supposed she did have her son, however repulsive that son might be to Harry.

But the reason he was grateful for the breather was his preparation for the Second Task. It consumed virtually _all_ of his time. He was practically drowning in books – runic translations, various altered schemes, diagrams of spells that created fires of varying capacity, trying to find runes that held up against such modern terms as 'temperature differentials' and so on and so forth.

And it was incredibly taxing – there was no step-by-step guide he could follow this time around. No potion whose ingredients he could copy off a list. He knew there was a reason the Second Task had involved intense cold – while there were various spells one could perform with a wand to stave off cold, there seemed to be no equivalent of the Flame-Freezing Charm for wizards trapped in ice.

His first idea had simply been to melt the ice around him, and create a 'hot zone' of sorts in his immediate vicinity, but the warming charm was simply not built for the sort of cold that he expected the Second Task to entail. And while he had already purchased a set of Pepper-Ups, they were meant rather to relieve fevers temporarily and give the human body a boost in terms of speeding up blood circulation, rather than enable him to hold out against Arctic conditions.

And there were so many problems associated with intense cold – snow, ice, frost and so on and so forth. He simply could not expect a single enchanted object to help him with all of that, so he determined that he would use an enchantment simply to keep his body shielded from intense cold, rather than to help him with the other challenges such cold might entail.

Harry focused on the piece of wood he was using as a template and channelled his magic into it, making the elaborate runic patterns carved onto its surface glow faintly. He then touched it, murmured 'Fire Up' – the trigger event he had fashioned – and a massive gout of fire issued from it, making Harry yelp and duck immediately. The wood burst into pieces, showering him in sawdust and ash.

Harry growled in frustration as he picked up the next piece of wood and examined his runic configuration again. Apparently, one could not simply carve out the runes for bluebell flames and hope that the anchor would create fiery configurations in the shape one wanted; he had to specify the very shape the flame would take and hope that the enchanted anchor would be able to coax the flame into said shape.

Harry tried adding the rune for _dome_ after the rune for bluebell flames on his next wooden panel, but it failed to generate any flame at all, which made him even more frustrated, until he noticed that he hadn't channelled any magic into the runes, which then made him feel embarrassed.

But as he was about the channel his magic into the object, he realized that simply creating a dome of fire around him would not be enough. He had to be able to summon the dome into existence at will, and he had to be able to regulate the intensity of the dome so that he would not burn himself up in the process.

And so, Harry realized that he'd have to go back to the drawing board and make another runic algorithm based on the elaborate list of requirements he had just dreamt up.

 _Well_ , he thought, _At the very least, I'm learning a new branch of magic_.

Basira Tawfeeq was not quite what Lily expected. She had thought they would meet a wizened, wheezing crone who was at her deathbed and that they'd have to shout to make themselves heard. What she saw, on the other hand, was a thin, resplendent woman, with lingering traces of the great beauty she must have possessed in her youth, glaring at them, eyes sharp and still full of vigour, though she projected an air of weariness that had much to do with age and health.

"Say it again," she said in perfect, albeit accented English, and her voice set Lily on edge. Lily was only comforted by the fact that Tawfeeq had sworn an Unbreakable Vow to them; she would not reveal the Prophecy to any but the two in the room.

Minerva nodded and dutifully repeated the words that still caused Lily to shiver inwardly,

" _He who may atone approaches,_

 _Born to those that have thrice defied the darkness,_

 _Born as evil reaches its fiery zenith, high above us all_

 _Darkness shall embrace him, as shall light,_

 _His choices shall mark us all,_

 _Bringing forth doom and delight_."

There was a very pronounced pause, before Basira cried, "How dare you!" Her hands flapped about indignantly as she said, "You dare come into my home, and utter one of my prophecies as if it were yours!"

Minerva and Lily shared a bewildered glance.

"One of _your_ prophecies?" Minerva asked, "I… do not understand. This prophecy was made over a decade and a half ago to a man in England."

"Then you have been fooled," Basira snapped, "I made this prophecy before you two were even born! I have proof of its existence in the _Kitaabut-Tawaqqu'at fil hukumat us-sahriyya_ …" Basira trailed off for a moment and glared at them, before explaining, "The _Hukumat_ keeps a record of all prophecies uttered by the seers in this region – the prophecy that was plagiarised and uttered to you is listed in that record. As _mine_."

"Fair enough," Minerva said in placating fashion, palms held out in a gesture of peace, "But I have to ask – there's no difference at all between our prophecy and yours?"

"There's only _my_ prophecy," Basira said irritably, "Your false Seer stole my work!"

"Granted," Minerva tried again, "But they're exactly the same prophecy?"

Basira squinted at the Transfiguration teacher, and then glanced at Lily. After a moment of deliberation, she said through gritted teeth, "Yes. But… the second line – _born to those that have thrice defied the darkness_ – were not part of my prophecy."

Minerva and Lily leaned forward. Basira sighed and said, " _Born as the solstice approaches_. That was the _real_ second line of that damned prophecy. And were it not for the difference in language, the rest of my prophecy is exactly the same as your fake one."

"I… see," Minerva said.

"You should have this false Seer exposed," Basira said angrily, "Thrown out. No Seer steals another's prophecy!"

Minerva nodded and turned to Lily.

"We… thank you for your help," Lily said graciously as Basira leaned back against the armrest of her sofa, "And we wish you the best in the future."

"Yes, yes," Basira replied, still glowering at them, "Majid will show you the door."

But just as Lily and Minerva were about to step out of Basira's chambers, the old sorceress said, "And you two should know this – of all the prophecies I made, that damned poem is the only one that never came true."

Minerva raised her eyebrows, nodded at Basira and stepped outside with a very confused Lily in tow.

Harry grinned as he watched the sun set over the distant hills across the lake – it was a remarkably clear day that was set to herald the New Year.

"See," he told Fleur who was pouting at him, "You're still trying to pronounce that with the tip of your tongue, which is why the _z_ sound comes out. Don't try it with the tip of your tongue. Instead try doing it with the upper portion _near_ the tip of your tongue – touch your teeth right against your upper tongue as you say it."

Fleur closed her eyes, carefully followed his instructions and managed to say, " _Th_ at."

"There we go!" Harry cried, "You've done it."

Fleur grinned. " _Th_ at," she tried again, " _Th_ e… it is not too bad once I get ze… _th_ e hang of it."

For a moment, Harry admired how the bright red glow of the sun seemed to set her hair ablaze as twilight approached, bathing her in a purplish glow, but then he shook his head and said, "Yup, you've got the hang of it."

" _Merci_ ," Fleur said, inclining her head at him, "I… I am glad we got to do this. I never see you outside much _th_ ese days."

"I could say the same of you," Harry said, stretching his arms tiredly, "But I suppose all that preparation for the second task keeps us a bit busier than expected."

"You still owe me for that," Fleur said, pronouncing the 'th' sound perfectly, "I was the one that gave you… intel."

"Zat you were," Harry replied cheekily.

"And I still plan to collect," Fleur said, wagging a finger at him.

"Fair enough," he said.

"So," Fleur said, as they both turned to watch the sun fading over the horizon, "How are you progressing with your preparation for the task?"

"Eh," Harry said, "I guess it's going to be a long time before I'm prepared. How about you?"

"Not quite as long," Fleur said, "I've almost got what I need."

She then laughed and said, "I'm not going to be able to get more details from you, am I?"

"Nope," Harry replied with a smirk, "Not a chance."

"Ah, well," Fleur said, "Then I suppose it is time to talk about other… more important secrets."

"Such as…?" Harry asked, raising his eyebrows at her.

"You and… Narcissa," Fleur said, smiling serenely at the lake, "You never did tell me how it all began."

Harry stared at her for an instant and then relaxed – for some reason, he found it far easier to talk to Fleur of his relationship with Narcissa than Hermione, though he supposed the fact that Fleur never uttered a word of censure against him contributed to his ease of communication with her, at least as far as Narcissa was concerned. They had talked a bit on the subject, but Fleur tended to revive it once she thought they were not about to be eavesdropped upon. Nonetheless, Harry still cast a privacy charm around himself.

"I guess," Harry said, his mind invoking memories that had long since burned themselves into his brain, "It all started over the summer. I was… I suppose I was a more naïve boy then. She spoke to me and things just… just seemed to come alive, y'know? Like the world had burst into colour – a woman like _her_ , talking to a guy like _me_. And then, she invited me to her tent – it was Quidditch camp and all that – and things just… spiralled out of control from there."

"So she seduced you?" Fleur asked in a neutral tone.

"Maybe?" Harry said, shrugging his shoulders, "But I have a will of my own too. I chose to fall for her."

"I'm not denying the fact that you have a will of your own," Fleur said softly, "But your… _will_ … is less experienced than hers."

"Yeah," Harry said, "But… it's just…"

"Did you know she was married when things started… spiralling out of control?" Fleur asked.

"No," Harry said mildly, "I did not."

"I see," Fleur breathed, sparing him a glance.

"What?" he asked curiously, "What's that supposed to mean?"

Fleur sighed, but said nothing more. They both continued for a while in companionable silence, before Fleur turned to him and said abruptly, "Do you mind if we try something?"

"Like what?" he asked, still not able to get her inscrutable glance out of his mind.

"Think of it as… learning a new charm," Fleur said, as she got up and he followed suit.

"And what is this charm called?" Harry asked.

"The _Patronus_ Charm," Fleur said, "It is a charm that repels… have you heard of dementors?"

"The guardians of Azkaban?" Harry said with a shudder, "Of course I have. Two of those… things… were at my godfather's acquittal. Being near them was just horrible – like I was slowly losing my ability to be happy."

"They are worse up close," Fleur said, "Or so I've heard – I've never experienced them myself. But… I know that this charm, when performed with the right frame of mind, is capable of summoning a… _Patronus_ … a guardian that is capable of defending a wizard from dementors."

"Really?" Harry said, perking up, "What's the incantation?"

" _Expecto Patronum_ ," Fleur chanted. She then took him through the precise pronunciation and wand motions for the next fifteen minutes, but nothing came out of Harry's wand except for a faint silvery mist.

"Er… why isn't it working?" Harry asked.

"That is part of my… experiment," Fleur replied, "Just… please do what I say for the next few minutes. I would be very grateful."

"Er… sure," Harry said tentatively.

Fleur sighed. "Just… please don't ask why you should do this, or why I'm making you do this," she said.

"Erm… Okay," Harry said. He grinned and added, "I'm always up for learning new charms though."

"Now," Fleur said, smiling slightly, "I want you to close your eyes and think of the first time you were with Narcissa. And by with… I mean, _with_ … when you both kissed for the first time. Remember the exact event, visualize, bring to mind the precise emotions swirling in your head, and then try and cast the spell."

Harry blushed and opened his mouth to ask why, but then he remembered his promise. He snapped his mouth shut and obeyed Fleur, closing his eyes and remembering that occasion – the first time they had kissed inside her tent, during his fourth lesson with her. Her lips on his, with his mind stalled, trying to _think_ , _feel_ , as she pulled off and told him his technique needed improving, then _directing_ him, _moulding_ his lips as they crushed hers, _pulling_ at his tongue, drawing him into a fog of passion and frenzy…

The memory swept him by as he stood with his arm outstretched on the lakeshore. He performed the right wand motions, his mind clouded with passion and incanted, " _Expecto Patronum!_ "

And then he opened his eyes, only to be greeted by the sight of a smiling Fleur and nothing else. The charm still did not seem capable of working.

"You may try again," Fleur said, nodding to him.

Harry grit his teeth, closed his eyes and fixed his mind more pointedly on his first experience with Narcissa. He chanted the spell again, but to no effect – and he was positive his wand motions and incantations were absolutely correct this time around.

"It doesn't seem to be working," he ground out.

Fleur circled around him and then… _hugged_ him from behind, pressing her soft body against his.

"Fleur," he began, but she cut him off.

"I told you not to ask me _why_ ," she whispered, her breath tickling his ear, and the sheer heat of her body giving him comfort from the chilly air.

"Now," she continued, laying her head against his shoulder, "I want you to remember another memory. _Our_ kiss, on that boat, in the middle of this very lake. What you felt at the time, what was going through your head when my lips touched yours… I want you to remember it all. _Please_."

Harry breathed rapidly, and closed his eyes reluctantly, thanking the stars for the fact that neither Narcissa nor Lily were actually in the castle. Despite himself, he tried to remember, to recall his feelings from two weeks ago.

And his memory was surprisingly fresh; he remembered every feeling, every sensation – the fact that Fleur was pressed so closely against him helped immensely. He could remember her lips, impossibly soft against his own, her moans as she wrapped herself around him, her surprise at every move his lips made against hers, her delight at discovering new pleasures she had not quite known before. And then he remembered what _he_ had felt – for a fleeting moment, he had found comfort in the face of heartbreak, serenity in the midst of that ache, happiness in the wake of betrayal.

His wand moved and his lips chanted, " _Expecto Patronum_ "; he felt magic burstingout through his body and his hair stood on end as he opened his eyes to behold…

He had no idea _what_ he was looking at. For a moment, he thought he was looking at a miniature version of Fluffy, but his Patronus was too serpentine, too long-necked to be a Cerberus. And it seemed to have more than just three heads. The Patronus persisted for a moment, before Harry lost focus and it vanished.

Nonetheless, he whipped around to notice that Fleur had long since let him go. Instead, she stood behind him, a gust of wind sending her hair streaming across her angular face, and smiled _triumphantly_.

"I knew it," she snarled, her eyes acquiring a sudden, alarming, alluring glimmer and she charged right at Harry, who stared at her dumbfounded. She closed the distance between them in a single stride and seized his robes, pulling him close, his eyes drawn automatically to her full, succulent lips…

" _No_!" Harry cried, alarmed, trying to shake himself out of her grip and the _haze_ that had suddenly seized him, " _Fleur_!"

Fleur's eyes lost their glimmer and her hair seemed to settle timidly in place as she looked at him for a long moment, her expression flitting from stupefaction to surprise to disappointment. She let him go and looked away, breathing hard.

"I…" she said hesitantly with a small voice, "I should go."

"Fleur," Harry tried in vain as she walked away determinedly in the direction of her carriage, and he gave it up as a bad job. He had no idea what had just happened. He merely stared at Fleur's retreating back, her hair glimmering in the last light of New Year's Eve.

"Ah, young love – a wonderful, heart-warming chore, is it not?" said a deep voice from behind Harry, startling him. He whipped around only to see the Headmaster of Hogwarts himself. Albus Dumbledore was accompanied by a smiling Rubeus Hagrid; Harry could not help but notice the humongous crossbow in Hagrid's hands.

"Professor… I…" Harry stammered, but Dumbledore held out his hand, cutting him off.

"Performing the Patronus Charm is not quite against school rules, Harry," Dumbledore said smiling underneath his beard, "Though the manner of its teaching was… interesting, to say the least."

Hagrid chuckled and Harry wondered how long the two had been standing there, though he could not help the flush that crept across his cheeks.

In a desperate bid to change the topic, Harry quickly asked, "Were you going somewhere, sir?"

"We were," Dumbledore said without missing a beat and pointing at the tree-line, "We were planning to go into the Forbidden Forest."

"Oh," Harry said, thrown by the simple declaration, "Er…"

"Would you like to join us, Harry?" the venerable Headmaster asked, "It's been quite a while since I've had a true adventure, and Hagrid tells me your presence is very helpful in this regard when walking into the Forest."

Harry could not quite tell if Dumbledore was being serious, but he said, "I'd love to accompany you, sir."

"So be it," Dumbledore said, much to Harry's surprise, "Come, Harry. Forward and onward – betwixt the dark eaves of the Forbidden Forest."

Harry immediately joined Dumbledore and Hagrid, barely keeping up with their long strides as they ventured into the forest. The woods grew thicker and darker around them with every passing step.

"Er…" Harry began, scratching the back of his head helplessly as he tried to ask where they were going.

But Dumbledore cut him off with gesture and said, "I'm impressed, Harry. That was an immensely powerful and unique conjuration."

"The Patronus, sir?" Harry asked, still curious about their destination, but oddly flattered nonetheless, "I… uh… I'm pretty sure Fleur can conjure one too."

"I daresay she can," Dumbledore said, nodding absently and levitating a log that had blocked their path, "But I highly doubt her Patronus is like yours. For it is not your ability to learn the Patronus Charm quickly that surprises me – though you do demonstrate a unique affinity for it – it is the form of your Patronus that is truly remarkable."

"I'm afraid I didn't quite recognise the Patronus, sir," Harry said at once, even as Dumbledore effortlessly transfigured the floating log into a humongous broom, which, to Harry's incredulity, started sweeping the ground behind them, as if attempting to wipe out their trail.

"Ah," Dumbledore said, running his hands through his beard thoughtfully, "I hope you shall forgive an old man's unfortunate tendency to lapse into overlong explanations, but I do think it difficult to explain away my surprise at your Patronus with nary a back-story, so I shall indulge my unfortunate and often frowned-upon affliction for now."

It was a testament to Harry's frequent interactions with the Headmaster in the past that he understood a word of what the man had just said. He nodded.

"Several wizards and witches, through the ages, have discovered various inscriptions around the British Isles, created by Merlin himself," Dumbledore said, "In my youth, I was fortunate enough to find a heretofore undiscovered set of notes that Merlin had scrawled onto a large obelisk in this very forest. All such notes and inscriptions are now available for perusal by the public in the Ministry of Magic.

"Nonetheless, some of those inscriptions, including those that I discovered, had to do with Merlin's comments on the evolving nature of Patronii. For, you see, a century before the birth of Merlin, _all_ witches and wizards were known to have what Merlin called 'normal' Patronii – but what I now call 'remarkable.'

"For before the birth of Merlin, _all_ wand-bearers capable of casting a Patronus charm had Patronii that resembled magical creatures, as opposed to the more mundane creatures of today. It was only during Merlin's time that wizards and witches who paid close attention to such things began to notice the onset of a _new_ kind of Patronus – one that did not resemble a magical creature of some sort.

"The vixens, does, stags, lions, bears, dogs and so on and so forth – the various forms that Patronii today take – were once rare by Merlin's own account, gaining prevalence only after his death."

"What form did Merlin's Patronus take?" Harry asked curiously, pushing a leafy branch away from his head and skipping over a conspicuous root.

"A dragon, by the accounts of others," Dumbledore replied, "Though interestingly, Merlin never mentions the form of his own Patronus in his scrawls."

"And why did the Patronii change?" Harry asked.

"Merlin himself surmised that it was a sign of the changing times. Like all disillusioned elders that frown at younger customs and trends, he too thought that magic itself was becoming more impure with each passing generation.

"Unfortunately, though I believe Merlin himself may never have intended his statement to be misconstrued in such a grievous manner, this particular observation was appropriated much, _much_ later by pureblood fanatics to support a war that rages to this day.

"However, most Arithmancers believe that the changing form of the Patronii is merely an indication of the waning of magic, given the primal nature of the spell and how it functions."

"The fading Nexus," Harry breathed.

Dumbledore chuckled. "For the life of me, I shall never quite understand why Arithmancers insist on calling magic 'the Nexus.' Such a ponderous term for such a wonderful thing. But yes, while there is no broad consensus on this matter, I believe this conjecture - that the changing nature of Patronii is associated with waning magic - a fair one; though I'm afraid I haven't read an Arithmancy paper in ages.

"You'd be better served asking Professor Vector about the arithmantic nature of primal charms such as the Patronus and how it is affected by not just the ability or the proficiency of the magical being casting it, but also on the nature of magic as a whole.

"However, the issue is made more complicated by the fact that _some_ wizards are still capable of casting a Patronus that resembles a magical creature, rather than a muggle one. And you, by way of your recent accomplishment, have joined this exclusive club."

Harry was not quite sure if exclusivity was something he ought to celebrate – in his experience, being unique generally meant that he would be hunted by an immortal Dark Lord.

"Er… do you know any other wizards who can cast a magical Patronus, sir?" Harry asked.

"I do," Dumbledore said, "I know two such wizards, who have now become _three_ , thanks to you, Harry. And one of those wizards is none other than myself."

"You have a magical Patronus?" Harry asked, awed.

"All Patronii are magical, Harry," Dumbledore said with a smile, "But if you mean to ask whether my Patronus resembles a magical creature, then… yes. My Patronus does resemble a magical creature. A phoenix, to be precise."

Harry had to smile at that.

"And… er… what was my Patronus, sir?" Harry asked excitedly.

"A creature that I haven't seen since I was sixty… which was a dreadfully long time ago," Dumbledore said merrily, stroking his long beard, "But a creature that represents your spirit remarkably well - a representation of your tenacity, and your determination to climb out of whatever hole you fall into. Cut one head off, and another rises in its place."

"A hydra," Harry breathed.

"Indeed," Dumbledore said, "A creature you would do well to keep close to your heart, Harry, for that particular ability, I daresay, shall serve you very well indeed, if you are to weather what I hope shall be a glorious future, but what, in reality, may be a future that leads to glory by way of strife."

Before Harry could ask what Dumbledore meant, Hagrid interrupted their conversation. "Professor Dumbledore," the half-giant murmured, pointing at the clearing in front of them, "We're here."

Harry peered into the clearing, barely illuminated by the setting sun, only to notice a very familiar silhouette – the muscular upper torso of a broad-chested man that blended seamlessly with the stout body of a horse.

They were here to meet the centaurs.

"You," Narcissa greeted her husband through gritted teeth as he faced her with his arms crossed, right after Draco had retired to his room for the night.

Lucius glared at her. "How dare you – a common _whore_ from a weakened house – poison my own son's ears against me!" he thundered.

Narcissa shrugged her shoulders elegantly and smirked. "It's hardly poison, Lucius," she drawled. She then glared right back at him. "Amid those speeches about ungracious muggleborns and pureblood supremacy, did you even bother to tell him about your little muggle hunt near Budapest, Lucius? The soiree with your murdering brethren at Godalming? Did you tell them about the cottage near Manchester? The one with the little muggleborn who lived with his father? And the atrocities you committed upon the _father_ while the son…"

"Enough," Lucius snarled, though he appeared pale at her vehemence.

"You have the gall to lecture me about the proper way to raise a _son_ ," she snarled, "When you… you disgusting little _pig_ …"

"ENOUGH!" Lucius roared, unsheathing his wand at once from his ornate cane, only to find his wife's wand pointed right at him.

"I've been waiting for this," Narcissa said, eyes shining with rage, "Bring it on, Lucius. Show me what it takes to be a man."

For an entire moment, he merely glared at her, but she could see his decision forming in his eyes – deep down, he knew he could never win against her. He slowly pushed his wand back into his cane, breathing heavily, even as Narcissa smirked pointedly and twirled her wand between her fingers casually.

"You bring shame upon your ancient house," Lucius snarled, "Defending the likes of muggles and mudbloods. The shame this heaps upon your mother's memory…"

"Never really liked her anyway," Narcissa snapped dismissively, "And you already labelled my house a _weakened_ one; I can hardly heap shame upon it then, can I? My ancestral house and its history have long since been mired in dirt and filth, but not more so than _this_ one."

"This is your house too," Lucius said through gritted teeth, his hand twitching around his cane.

"No," Narcissa said firmly, "It is not. It shall never be _my_ house."

Lucius glared at her for a long moment, still breathing heavily with rage, before he finally snarled, "Draco answers to _me_ , hag. He shall always answer to me. He looks up to _me_. Not to you, never to you."

That hurt Narcissa more than she cared to admit and she felt her stomach coiling up at the notion that her son found her wanting compared to the monster that stood before her.

"And for both your sake, and his sake," Lucius snapped as he turned to leave the dining hall, "I do hope you're making some progress with the Potter boy. If not, I shall find your… utility… to this house wanting. And then, not even your skill with a wand shall keep you safe from my wrath."

Lucius strode out of the room without a backward glance. Narcissa trembled for a moment, before she collapsed against the dining table wearily.

She had never let these arguments get to a point where Lucius would draw a wand upon her before – her laconic answers had always ensured that their fights ended well before they even started.

Only, now, she wasn't quite willing to settle any more. She could barely stand the sight of her own husband, let alone bring herself to submit to his inane arguments and abominable prejudices.

She was no longer a mere survivor. She was much, _much_ more than that.

Narcissa took a deep breath, and her posture straightened at once. Head held high, she snapped her fingers and ordered the elf that appeared to clean the table at once. She glanced at the clock in the corner and noticed that there were merely six hours before the New Year arrived.

And she promised herself that this would be the last New Year she would spend in her husband's company.

"Headmaster, Rubeus," the centaur greeted in a rough, haughty voice before his eyes alit upon Harry, "And you've brought a foal with you."

"Harry Potter," Dumbledore said, "I did not believe you would object to his presence."

The centaur loped closer to them and peered at Harry with a frown. After a moment's deliberation, the centaur nodded and said, "I have much to tell that is not for the ears of others, Headmaster, but I dare not disobey the stars. And the stars do not forbid the foal's presence."

While trying to sift through the centaur's speech, Harry recognized the haughty face from his first year – Bane, the leader of the local tribe of centaurs, by all accounts. Bane turned and beckoned to them, leading them past the clearing and further into the woods.

"The reason I summoned your presence," Bane said, addressing Dumbledore, "Was because I am faced with a horrific situation that I find beyond my comprehension or magical prowess. We centaurs have, for a long time, used a brand of magic that is our own – coupled with our ability to see glimpses of the future, Headmaster, I believed we could face any foe, defeat any that dared infringe upon what is ours by right."

The centaur gestured around himself at the trees. "This forest was ours long before your kind constructed a castle on the meadow that borders our home. We were reading the stars long before the first human students assembled atop the long spire to gaze at the planets in awe.

"But I digress," the centaur rumbled, stepping into another, larger clearing that took Harry by surprise. There were a few more male centaurs in the clearing, apparently waiting for them, and Harry recognized Firenze among them, who nodded in friendly fashion at the group.

Bane continued, "I may be a proud centaur, but I am not arrogant enough to watch idly as our herd suffers. I am no so proud so as not to ask for help when I truly need it. Headmaster, I shall not belabor the point much longer. Our herd is… dying."

Hagrid looked taken aback and Harry's eyebrows rose until they met his messy hair. Dumbledore frowned in thought and asked, "Are your territories being threatened?"

Bane shook his head, and his long black hair unfurled like a mane. "Nothing of the sort," he said, "But there is something… deeper at work. Something primal."

"A curse?" Hagrid asked morbidly.

"Perhaps," Bane said, rubbing his scraggly beard in deep thought, "But I do not detect any trace of vengeful, or dark magic."

Firenze stepped forward. "And neither have we," the centaur said in a milder tone, gesturing to the fellow members of his herd, "But we have sensed something else. A collective groan from the forest itself. The unicorns have not arrived for the mating cycle, Albus."

"This goes beyond the mating seasons of unicorns," Bane rumbled again, "Dumbledore, our herd is dying _not_ because of malicious magic, but for a far simpler reason. We have not had a centaur birth in six autumn-cycles. Six _years_ by your count."

Hagrid seemed to understand the significance of six autumns without a single centaur birth. "That is unusual," Dumbledore said as the half-giant nodded, "Two young foals for every year was considered a fairly common occurrence in my youth."

Bane laughed harshly. "That number has dwindled since, Headmaster. We considered ourselves lucky if we had any young foals at all every two years. Lately, however, even that has proved to be an impossibility."

"And…" Firenze said softly, "The stars offer us no guidance on this."

"The stars offer you no…?" Dumbledore asked, then paused and continued cautiously, "Are you alleging a… depreciation of your powers?"

"The stars and planets still talk to us," Bane said, "But their voices become weaker with each passing day. And the barren state of our mares… it is not a good time to be chieftain, Headmaster."

"The mares are sterile?" Hagrid asked, more sharply than Harry would have given him credit for, reminding him how much Hagrid truly knew about sentient non-humans, "No stillborn?"

The centaurs shuffled uneasily. Firenze spoke up, "Stillborn… if only we could give you such news, Hagrid."

"Indeed," Bane added wearily, "But no, we do not have stillborn, Hagrid. We have had _some_ births in the last six autumn cycles. And there were two delayed births this winter. But… I… do not…"

Bane trailed off with a sorrowful sigh and pointed at a portion of the clearing that was screened from view by vines.

Dumbledore and Hagrid nodded at the chieftain, walked up to the vines, parted the long, flexible stems and peered through them. Harry followed suit.

And in the failing light of the setting sun, Harry gasped as he saw the foals the female centaurs had birthed that year. There were no baby centaurs that cooed at him from within. No sentient beings with the upper torsos of humans.

Instead he saw true foals. Lying in the clearing were two muggle horses, with nary a light of intelligence in their eyes.

There was no magic to them.


End file.
